JOHN  D.WELLS 


What  the  Reviewers  say  of 
-POEMS'' 

"Dana  Burnet  is  a  poet.  No  smaller  word  will  do. 
...  In  this  first  volume  Dana  Burnet  has  begun  to 
build — has  laid  the  foundation  of  his  own  'Temple 
unto  Time.'" — N.  1'.  Eve.  Sun. 

"Dana  Burnet  is  a  new  poet,  his  recently-issued 
book  of  'Poems,'  his  first  work  between  covers,  but 
already  he  has  blazed  a  fair  trail  to  the  country  of  the 
heart." — Chicago  Herald. 

"Of  modern-day  American  poets,  Dana  Burnet  will 
probably  be  among  the  first  to  be  recognized  as  a  real 
one." — Boston  Post. 

"There  is  even  a  novelet  in  verse,  which  once  be- 
ginning, the  reader  will  finish  with  admiration  for  its 
simplicity  and  spontaneity.  Indeed  those  are  the 
salient  qualities  of  Mr.  Burnet's  'Poems.'  There  are 
lines  to  remember,  thoughts  cast  into  inevitable  lines. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Burnet  has  every  element  of  popularity,  but 
there  is  no  cheapness  about  his  modes  of  expression. 
He  is  to  be  hailed  as  a  real  addition  to  the  singing 
guild,  not  merely  of  America,  but  of  the  English- 
speaking  world." — Boston  Transcript. 

"Here  is  found  a  delightful  book  of  verse  by  one 
whose  muse  'no  middle  course'  ascends — verses  of 
exquisite  sensibility  and  of  singing  quality." 

— Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune, 

"None  of  Mr.  Burnet's  poems  may  be  passed  with- 
out loss,  for  each  is  the  effect  of  an  uninvited  emotion, 
the  response  of  a  veritable  impression;  and  if  this  is 
not  constantly  true  of  all,  there  are  lines  in  every  poem 
which  would  make  us  sorry  wholly  to  lose  it." 
— William    Dean    Howells    in    Harper's   Magazine. 

"A  first  volume  of  unusual  maturity  of  thought  and 
deftness  of  expression." — N.  Y.  Literary  Digest. 

"The  verses  are  of  such  high  quality  that  presage  a 
name  for  the  young  poet,  and  a  time  when  one  may 
boast  of  having  bought  one  of  his  first  editions." — 
Cincinnati  Enquirer. 


"that  sainted  friend— our  mother' 


[See  p.  42 


RHYMES    OF 

Our  Home  Folks 


BY 


JOHN    D.   WELLS 


ILLUSTRATED 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 


m 


Copyright,  1917.  by  Harper  &  Brother3 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  September,   191 7 


TO 
MY    LITTLE    SON 

John    D.   Wells,  jr. 

THIS      BOOK      OF      VERSE      IS 
AFFECTIONATELY     DEDICATED 


-HE  r\Or^^rkr-k 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Tale-telling  Time  {Foreword) xi 

When  the  Flag  Goes  By i 

When  Us  Boys  Went  Home 3 

Be  Natural 6 

The  Runaways 8 

Repentance 10 

At  the  Old  Spring 12 

A  Country  Boy's  Idea 14 

Wind  in  the  Pines 16 

A  Fambly  Matter       18 

In  the  Married  Quarters 20 

Pertainin'  to  Travelin' 22 

The  Penitent 24 

Get  in  Step 26 

In  a  State  of  Delight 27 

Appertainin'  to  Age 29 

At  the  Reunion 31 

The  Muse  Outdone 34 

The  Old  Cedar  Chest 36 

Without  Introduction 38 

A  Dream  Place       40 

An  Old-fashioned  Rhyme 42 

The  Missing  Boys       44 

When  the  Stage  Came  In 46 

A  Common  Feller       49 

The  Army  of  Dawn 51 

November! 52 


PACE 


Grandpa's  Rejuvenation 54 

The  Three  Favors 56 

The  Man  from  the  Hills 57 

Heart  Shrines 59 

The  Little  Lace  Lady 61 

The  Middle  One 63 

"How's  THE  Fambly?" 66 

The  Hired  Man  Says: 68 

The  Childhearts 69 

The  Migratory  Friend       71 

When  Youth  Was  Here 73 

The  Vagrant  Blessings 76 

The  Chronicles  of  a  Young  'Un -j-j 

When  the  Drums  Go  By 79 

The  Better  Self 80 

Pan  at  Large 82 

An  Old  Man  on  Circus  Day 84 

A  Boy's  Summer 86 

When  the  Baby's  Gone  Away 88 

In  the  Feudist's  Home 90 

The  Orchard  Seat 92 

The  Horse-trader's  Prayer 94 

The  Dreamer 96 

An  Old  Man's  Hope 98 

Chums 100 

The  Little  Man  in  the  Wheel-chair     ...  102 

A  Peddler  of  Cheer 104 

A  Country  Shower 106 

At  the  Village  Store 108 

The  Blind  Veteran no 

A  Stavin'  Old  Friend 112 

A  Glimpse  of  a  Face  in  a  Sidewalk  Crowd  .  115 


PAGE 

An  Expose  Averted ii6 

Fancy,  the  Truant ii8 

The  Apologist 121 

Home 123 

An  Autumn  Occupation 124 

Little  Child-o'-love 127 

"Sassafras" 129 

A  Neighborhood  Picture 131 

One  Man's  Theology 133 

The  Street  Musician 135 

Match-makin' 137 

The  Lone  Orchard  Seat 139 

A  Creed 142 

The  Debt  You  Owe 144 

The  Village  Wagon-shop 146 

When  Joe  Allen  Comes  to  Visit 149 

The  Church  in  the  Forest 151 

An  Old  Man  Musing i53 

At  the  Horse  Sale 15S 

Youth  and  Age       i57 

The  Return  of  Sunshine 159 

The  Uncertainty  of  Spring        160 

Home  from  School 162 

A  Good-natured  Loafer 164 

Lines  from  a  Bachelor's  Den         167 

And  This  Is  the  Way  It  Was 168 

Whistlin'  Phin 170 

Just  About  Now 172 

A  Task  for  the  Rhymester 175 

A  Longin' '^11 

Evenin' 180 

The  Poet  Dreamer 183 


FOREWORD 

TALE-TELLING   TIME 

Give  me  some  color  to  weave  hi  my  rhyming, 
Lots  of  the  somberest  hues  for  the  priming, 
Plenty  of  silvery  gray  and  of  white 
Picturing  Age  in  a  state  of  delight; 
Something  of  yellow  with  red  coming  after 
Shading  the  picture  with  fmi  and  with  laughter; 
Teach  me  to  skilfully  paint  it  in  rhyme 
Showing  the  children  at  tale-telling  time. 
And  grandfather,  facing  the  firelight's  flashes, 
Tracing  the  course  of  the  past  in  the  ashes. 

Tremulous,  slow,  as  if  carefully  pondered, 
Follows  his  cane  o'er  the  way  he  has  wandered — • 
This  one,  the  pathway  that  beckoned  him  here — 
Beckoned  the  sturdy  to  tame  the  frontier; 
That  one  to  mill,  and  another  trace,  fainter. 
Led  to  the  haunts  of  the  bear  and  the  ''painter" ; 


This  one,  much  longer  and  deeper  and  more 
Fixed  than  the  others,  that  led  him  to  war — 
And  one   that  he  trod  through   the  zvar-crimsoned 

clover 
Back  to  his  loved  ones  zvhen  zcarfare  zcas  over. 

Heed  you,  all  poets  forever  inditing. 
Poems  and  themes  that  are  scarce  tcorth  the  zcriting. 
Choose  you  some  colors  all  carefully  blent, 
Fashion  a  picture  and  call  it  "Content"; 
Picture  the  scene  and  the  love  dwelling  under — 
Golden-haired  children  in  open-eyed  wonder — 
Grandfather,  ruddy-faced  mentor  and  host, 
Dreaming  the  dreams  that  he  cherishes  most; 
Youth  and  Old  Age  in  the  firelight  flashes 
Tracing  the  course  of  the  past  in  the  ashes. 


RHYMES    OF 
OUR    HOME    FOLKS 


RHYMES    OF 
OUR    HOME    FOLKS 

WHEN  THE  FLAG  GOES   BY 

(Thus  speaks  Private  Thompson,  veteran  of  foreign  service) 

Love  of  the  flag?     Well,  what  do  you  know  of 

it?— 
What  do  the  men  of  your  kind  ever  show  of  it, 
But  stand  on  your  legs  when  the  colors  go  by 
And  yelp  with  the  others  and  never  know  why? 
What  do  you  know,  who  dodge  all  the  wars 
And  don't  know  the  colors  except  at  bazaars? 

Love  of  the  flag?     Well,  what  do  you  know  of 

it?— 
Men  of  your  kind  who  ne'er  saw  the  glow  of  it 
Against  the  black  sky  at  the  end  of  the  day 
When  crimson  and  daylight  were  ebbing  away? 
[I] 


What  do  you  know,  who  never  surmise 

How  bravely  a  soldier  can  smile  when  he  dies? 

Love  of  the  flag  ?  Well,  what  can  you  tell  of  it  ?— 
Never  saw  battle,  and  don't  know  the  smell  of  it ! 
And  yet  you  will  boast  as  it  snaps  in  the  wind, 
And    can't    see    the    shadow    hosts    marshaled 

behind — 
Don't  know  the  cost  in  death  and  in  woe. 
And  don't  stop  to  think  of  the  debt  that  you  owe! 

Love  of  the  flag?    Well,  if  you  would  know  of  it, 
Out  on  the  skirmish  line  you'll  find  a  show  of  it; 
It's  not  the  bright  colors  you  see  at  bazaars. 
But  tattered  and  frazzled  by  heathenish  wars! 
Hark  while  the  sergeant  is  checking  the  "Lost" — 
That's  love  of  the  flag  and  the  price  that  it  cost! 


I2] 


WHEN  US  BOYS  WENT  HOME 

When  us  boys  come  back,  we  jest 
Planned  we'd  have  the  beatin'est 
Rear-an'-tear  old  jamboree 
Our  old  township  ever  see! 
Planned  on  it,  we  did,  an'  writ 
Back  an'  forth  to  not  forgit 
This  or  that — old  truck,  perhaps, 
We  had  when  we's  little  chaps! — 
"Make  is  sure-enough  git  back," 
Bill  wrote  'way  from   Pontiac, 
Michigan — an'  same  from  Buck, 

An'  Sim  an'  Ed — 

Even  Fred, 
The  orphant  boy  ma  tuk. 


"Sure-enough  comin'  back!"  an'  yet 
Drivin'  homeward  seemed  to  let 
The  bottom  out  of  all  we'd  planned. 
Things  was  changed  so,  understand! 
[3] 


Not  a  house  or  gate  or  bend 

'Long  the  road  disclosed  a  friend! — 

Trees  had  growed,  an'  even  the 

Jimson  snubbed  us,  seemed  to  me. 

'Til  there  wa'n't  a  smiHn'  face 

By  time  we  reached  the  Jenkins  place! 

Hard  to  believe  that  zve  was  Buck, 

Sim  an'  Ed 

An'  Fred, 
The  orphant  boy  ma  tuk. 

Pottered  round  the  farm,  we  did, 
Wonderin'  where  old  treasures  hid — 
Huntin'  trees  with  names  cut  on, 
Wonderin'  where  the  squeak  had  gone 
From  the  old  well-sweep,  an'  how 
Father  gits  the  cows  up  now 
Since  we^ve  left — and  lookin'  fer 
Yeller-jackets'  nests  that  were^ 
'Til  we'd  sort  o'  dimmed  our  sight! 
Getherin'  home  ag'in  at  night 
On  the  back  stoop — pa  an'  Buck, 

Sim  an'  Ed 

An'  Fred, 
The  orphant  boy  ma  tuk! 
[  +  ] 


Lawsey,  if  the  days  was  sad, 

Then  the  nights  was  twice  as  bad! — 

With  the  moonshine  overhead 

Givin'  shape  to  all  the  dead 

Fancies  that  a  feller  takes 

All  through  life  for  their  sweet  sakes! 

An'  ma's  voice  a-whisperin' 

Through  the  pines,  "You're  home  ag'in!' 

'Til  we  set  there  squinty-eye 

Like  men  do  too  big  to  cry, 

like  Buck 

An'  me  an'  Ed 

An'  Fred, 
The  orphant  boy  ma  tuk! 


BE  NATURAL 

Takin'  people  ginerally 
I  admit  there  seems  to  be 
Alius  somethin'  wrong  with  some — 
I  might  say  with  all  of  'em! 
Manners,  mebbe,  ain't  the  best, 
Or  they're  better  than  the  rest — 
Mebbe  they're  too  this  or  that 
For  the  place  they're  livin'  at; 
Things  their  neighbors  can't  abide 
Seem  to  cloud  their  pleasant  side; 
An'  they're  mostly  things  they  could 
Cure  if  they  jist  understood 
What  the  simple  cure  is — 
All  they  got  to  do  is  this — 
Jist  be  natural! 

If  the  Lord  has  patterned  you 
Commonplace — He  figgered  to! — 
'Tain't  your  place  to  sneer  an'  smirk 
At  His  homely  handiwork! 
[6] 


Don't  you  fault  nor  make  complaint, 
Nor  try  to  pass  for  what  you  ain't — 
Don't  put  on  no  lug  nor  swell 
Turkey-fashion! — you  can't  tell 
But  there's  someone  watchin'  who 
Knows  your  record  through  an'  th rough- 
Knows  your  fambly  pedygree 
All  the  way  from  A  to  Z! 
An'  you'll  make  that  man  doggone 
Sick  to  see  you  puttin'  on — 
Jist  be  natural! 

No,  I  don't  pertend  to  be 
Posted  on  the-ol-ogy — 
"Do  your  best  and  let  'er  go," 
That's  the  only  creed  I  know; 
Yet,  I've  pictured  folks  I  meet 
Gethered  at  the  Judgment  Seat; 
There's  the  place,  I  rise  to  state, 
Where  such  folks  will  'spatiate. 
Put  on  lug  an'  strut  ag'in 
Try  in'  to  prove  how  good  they've  been! 
An'  'twill  make  my  heart  rejoice 
Jist  to  hear  a  thunderin*  voice 
Rise  above  the  pleadin'  crowd — 
Peter,  shoutin'  strong  an'  loud — 
"Jist  be  natural!" 
[7] 


THE  RUNAWAYS 

Back  of  all  the  happiness 
An'  hullsome  joys  that  alius  bless 
Parentage,  it's  my  surmise 
There's  lots  an'  lots  o'  sadness  lies — 
Sadness  in  the  thought  that  they 
Ain't  alius  children,  jist  to  stay 
Round  us  here  an'  never  grow, 
An'  wish  the  Lord  had  willed  it  so. 

Jist  to-day  I  heard  their  ma 

Call  in  the  twins  an'  bresh  'em.     Law! 

Washed  'em  up  an'  combed  their  hair 

*Til  there  wa'n't  a  finer  pair 

Anywhere  the  country  'round, 

That  anybody's  ever  found! 

Then  she  sent  'em  off  to  play. 

An'  turned  an'  breshed  a  tear  away. 

Then  she  come  to  me  an'  hid 
Her  tear-wet  face,  Loretty  did. 


'Twixt  her  sobs  she  showed  to  me 
The  things  a  man  can't  never  see — 
How  they're  losin'  all  their  wiles, 
Their  baby  ways  an'  baby  smiles — 
Jist  broke  down  a-tryin'  to  say 
"They're gettin'  further  off  each  day!" 

Sure  enough!     For,  lookin'  down 
The  county  road  to'rds  Shingletown, 
Dogged  if  there  wa'n't  ary  twin 
Of  'Retty's  runned  away  ag'in! — 
Jist  made  off  as  quick's  a  wink 
Through  the  fields,  two  specks  o'  pink 
'Gainst  the  green  yender  hill — 
Headed  straight  for  Lincoln's  Mill! 

Got  a  switch  an'  took  the  pup, 
An'  off  we  went  to  round  'em  up, 
Thinkin'  every  step  I  tread 
Of  the  words  Loretty  said — 
Further  off! — an'  tried  to  smile. 
An'  prayed  the  Lord  in  my  pore  style 
To  lengthen  out  their  baby  days 
An'  give  us  back  our  runaways! 


REPENTANCE 

When  the  winter  wind  is  howUn' 
An'  the  weather  gits  to  growlin' 

An'  my  fiddle  is  reposin'  on  the  shelf, 
An'  the  fambly  all  is  sleepin', 
An'  the  fire's  scarcely  keepin', 

Then  I'm  apt  to  git  to  talkin'  to  myself. 

Then  Tm  apt  to  set  an'  wonder 
An'  to  ponder  why  in  thunder 

This  an'  that  is  so  an'  things  are  as  they  be, 
An'  I'm  pretty  apt  to  figger 
How  I'd  built  it  better,  bigger, 

If  the  Lord  of  all  Creation,  say,  was  me! 

An'  it  really  is  surprisin' 
How  I  git  philosophizing 

An'   the  great   momentous   questions   I   decide. 
I  conclude  there's  too  much  talkin' 
An'  there's  heaps  too  many  walkin' 

Of  a  class  of  men  who'd  railly  ought  to  ride, 
[lol 


Luck,  it  seems  to  me,  is  servin' 
Lots  o'  men  who  ain't  deservin'. 

An'  it's  passin'  by  a  lot  o'  men  who  be — 
Jist  reverse  of  rule  an'  letter. 
Seems  to  me  I'd  fixed  it  better 

If  the  Lord  of  all  Creation,  say,  was  me! 

'Fore  I  know  it  I'm  a-faultin' 
Lord  A'mighty,  an'  I'm  haltin' 

In  my  boundless  faith — an    me  a  Baptist,  too! 
An'  my  puny  doubt  I'm  castin' 
On  His  wisdom  everlastin' 

As  no  man  of  my  acquaintance  orter  do! 

Then  the  natural  consequences 
Is  I  seem  to  git  my  senses. 

An'  rise  an'  lay  my  pipe  up  on  the  shelf; 
An'  I'd  feel  ashamed  an'  hateful 
If  I  didn't  feel  so  grateful 

Jist  to  think  I's  only  talkin'  to  myself! 


(Ill 


AT  THE  OLD  SPRING 

I  stay  the  cup  half  hfted  up! 

The  song  of  a  bird  sounds  far 
From  the  solitude  of  the  friendly  wood 

Where  councils  of  robins  are; 
A  chipmunk  fleet  resumes  his  beat 

On  the  run  of  the  topmost  rail. 
And  down  in  the  thatch  of  the  fence  I  catch 

The  wave  of  a  cottontail. 

The  earth  smells  rise,  and  the  maple  cries 

With  joy  for  the  newborn  Spring — 
The  jump-ups  stir  at  the  feet  of  her, 

And  tributes  of  blossoms  bring; 
And  far,  far  off  by  the  old  pump-trough, 

The  shuffle  and  low  of  kine 
And  the  squeak  and  "cheep"  of  the  old  well-sweep. 

Too  sweet  for  a  poet's  line. 

On  gentle  wings  the  Southwind  brings 
The  sounds  of  an  old  home  place — 

[12] 


The  plowboy's  song  as  he  chants  along 
To  the  tune  of  the  clanking  trace; 

The  far-off  noise  of  the  girls  and  boys 
At  play  in  the  meadows  there, 

And,  sweet  and  low  as  the  Southwinds  blow, 
A  farmwife's  song — somewhere. 

I  stsy  ths  cup  half  lifted  up! 

The  song  of  the  world  sounds  sweet 
From  the  refreshing  woods  and  the  solitudes 

Of  God's  great  country  seat; 
The  charms  impart  to  a  wearied  heart 

The  tilt  of  as  sweet  refrain 
As  angels  sing,  and  I  drink  to  Spring 

Abroad  in  a  country  lane. 


I  13  I 


A  COUNTRY  BOY'S  IDEA 

It  seems  t'  me  the  Lord,  who  made  all  things  both 

great  and  small, 
Devised  some  way  er  other  to  pertect  'em  one  an' 

all. 

Fer  instance,  take  a  porkypine — now  he  kin  hold 

his  own, 
An'   teach    folks   he   is   aimablur  when   he   is   let 

alone. 

An'  skunks,  fer  speshul  reasons,  are  secure — drat 

their  pelts! — 
An'  ain't  afraid  o'  ennything — of  dawgs  er  nuthin' 

else. 

Why,  even  roses  seem  t'  laugh  an'  dare  you  "come 

ag'in"— 
The    purtier   they    grow    the    more    the    prickers 

hedge  'em  in. 

[14] 


An'  once  I  found  a  daisy  patch  in  lower  medder. 

Whe-e-e! 
They  only  tossed  their  heads  an'  sicked  a  yeller- 

jack  on  me! 


[IS] 


WIND  IN  THE   PINES 

Wind  in  the  pines,  if  you  only  knew 

Who  rests  in  your  kindly  shade, 
How  good  and  noble  she  used  to  be. 
How  much  she  bore  and  how  patiently. 

And  answered  so  unafraid! 
If  you  only  knew!     Though  you  shriek  and  moan 
Through  all  the  world,  in  this  spot  alone 
You  would  temper  your  song  through  the  hanging 

fir. 
As  soft  as  the  low,  sweet  voice  of  her. 

Stars  of  the  night,  if  you  only  knew 

Whose  vigil  you  keep  and  why. 
You  would  keep  the  watch — e'en  the  very  least — 
From  the  shadowy  line  of  the  Twilight  East 

To  the  gray  of  the  Daylight  Sky; 
She  trailed  your  course  through  the  painful  night, 
And  read  the  truth  of  the  Infinite. 
Ah,  the  way  she  answered  the  Reaper's  nod 
Was  worthy  a  smile  from  the  face  of  God! 
[i6] 


Sun  of  the  day,  if  you  could  but  know 

How  kindly  she  was,  and  true — 
How  much  of  gladness  she  was  a  part — 
How  much  she  held  in  her  mother  heart 

Of  the  good  glad  warmth  of  you— 
If   you    could    but    know,    you    would    deck    her 

breast 
With  the  morning  jewels  she  loved  the  best, 
And  blossom  the  path  for  her  hurrying  feet 
That  joyous  day  when  the  loved  ones  meet. 


17] 


A  FAMBLY  MATTER 

A  fambly  matter,  I  suppose, 
An'  yet  I've  alius  held,  who  knows 
A  new  receipt  or  cure — well, 
They're  sort  o'  duty  bound  to  tell; 
An'  that,  I  s'pose,  is  the  reason  why 

A  man  like  me  persumes  to  chatter 
About  a  thing  that  I — well,  I 

Would  designate  a  fambly  matter. 

An'  if  the  text  was  left  to  me, 
I'd  call  it  "Ma's  Philosophy" 
Because,  by  some  unusual  chance. 
It  rhymes  ma's  luck  at  raising  plants — 
The  scrubs  that  others  jist  despise! 

The  Baptist  preacher  used  t'  tell  her, 
"It's  Life  your  creed  exemplifies," 

An'  he's  a  mighty  learned  feller. 

Now,  like  enough  she'd  favor  jest 
The  orneriest  an'  scrubbiest 
[i81 


Unpop'Iar,  lowdown,  dad-burned  weed 

That  any  mortal  ever  seed, 

An'  coax  it  into  bloom  next  day — 

In  blooms  so  sweet  we  all  would  like  'em! 
"Well,  how  d'  you  do  it,  ma?"  we'd  say. 

"I  put  'em  where  the  sun  kin  strike  'em." 

Her  kin  an'  folks  who  knowed  her  best. 
An'  knowed  how  plain  she  was,  '11  jest 
Declare  her  like  them  flowers  there 
She  coaxed  an'  raised  with  tender  care; 
As  plain  as  jimson  at  the  start; 

An'  yet,  her  charms  you  had  to  like  'em— 
Because  she  alius  kept  her  heart 

An'  nature  where  the  sun  would  strike  'em. 

Now  this  old  world  I  s'pose  you  know 
Can't  never  be  no  flower  show. 
With  such  old  weeds  as  j^ou  an'  me 
Around  here,  like  we'll  alius  be! — 
Yet  we  could  blossom,  every  one, 

An'  mebbe  bloom  so  folks  would  like  us, 
If  we'd  jest  do  what  mother  done, 

An'  linger  where  the  sun  would  strike  us. 


19 


IN  THE  MARRIED  QUARTERS 

Down  in  the  married  quarters, 

Away  from  the  bugle  and  drum — 
Down  where  the  medals  and  plaudits 

And  splendor  of  war  never  come; 
Down  past  the  end  of  the  barracks 

Where  children  swing  out  on  the  gate — 
Down  where  the  wives  and  mothers 

Pray  God  for  His  mercy,  and  wait. 

Down  in  the  married  quarters. 

Where  messengers  come  with  the  sun. 
Bringing  good  cheer  from  the  absent 

Or  news  of  the  victory  won; 
Women's  hearts  beat  but  the  faster, 

And  dread  comes  to  stifle  again — 
Safe  for  to-day,  but  to-morrow? 

What  message  will  come  to  them  then? 

Down  in  the  married  quarters, 

WTiere  soft-spoken  messengers  tread, 
[20] 


Here  and  there  pause  for  a  moment 
And  leave  them  the  news  of  their  dead; 

Youth  ceases  play  in  its  wonder — 

'Tis  hearts  of  the  women  war  sears' — 

Toll  from  a  soldier  is  duty, 

The  toll  from  a  woman  is  tears! 

Down  in  the  married  quarters, 

Where  sorrowing  women  must  wait — 
Sunny-faced  children  are  watching 

Their  soldier  to  greet  at  the  gate; 
There's  where  the  battles  rage  hardest, 

Aye,  there's  where  the  sacrifice  comes, 
Down  in  the  married  quarters 

Away  from  the  bugles  and  drums! 


[21] 


PERTAININ'  TO  TRAVELIN' 

I'd  like  t'  travel  'round,  an'  yit 
I  never  could  git  used  t'  it! 
There  ain't  no  rest,  I've  alius  said, 
A-sIeepin'  in  some  feller's  bed 
Y'  never  knowed,  an'  what  is  more, 
No  knowin'  who  slept  there  before! 
In  spite  o'  that  I've  traveled  some 
Without  a-Iosin'  sight  o'  hum. 

The  point  is  this:  My  travelin'  here 
'S  been  mostly  in  my  rockin'-cheer 
That  I  git  into  every  night — 
I  shuck  my  boots,  an'  then  I  light 
Right  out,  an'  *fore  you  know  I'm  gone 
With  that  'ere  feller  Stevenson, 
Across  the  world,  a  thousand  mile! — 
T*  Hebredies — er  Treasure  Isle! 

Er  mebbe  wander,  arm  in  arm, 
With  Field,  around  the  Sabine  Farm, 

[22] 


An'  hear  the  merry  lafF  an'  shout 
Of  childurn  that  he  wrote  about; 
Er  mebbe  hang  t'  Kiplin's  hand, 
An'  flit  t'  India's  coral  strand, 
T'  hear  the  bells,  er  tag  behind 
Mulvaney  an'  his  reckless  kind! 

An'  when  the  clock  gits  workin'  'round, 
I  alius  hunt  untwel  I've  found 
Jim  Riley— ol'-time  friend  o'  mine! — 
An'  go  with  Jim  to  Brandywine; 
Er  meet  Doc  Sifers,  mebbe,  who 
Jim  wrote  about— an'  like  him,  too— 
An'  gas  of  things  that  "in  an'  out" 
A  country  sawbones  knows  about! 

Git  sleepy,  too,  and  nod  away, 

An'  havin'  had  my  holiday 

An'  seen  the  world,  like  other  men, 

I  want  t'  git  back  hum  again; 

An'  here's  where  my  plan  beats  a  mile 

Them  folks  who  goes  in  steamer  style— 

I  shet  my  book  an'  I'm  at  hum 

With  Myry  and  the  rest  of  'em! 

[23] 


THE   PENITENT 

Settin'  here    beside    the    hole  where   once  I   used 

to  fish 
Settin'  here,  content  to  wait  an'  watch  my  hook 

an'  wish — 
Settin'  here  contenteder  than  I've  set  anywhere, 
Since  I  up  an'  moved  to  town  to  get  a  change  of 

air — 
Fortune,  too! — as  records  go,  they  'ain't  got  nuth- 

in'  in 
Showin'    I    got    either   one — but    now    I'm    back 


Listenin*   whilst   a   kildee   sings   Hke   kildees   alius 

does. 
Whilst  a  chipmunk  'spatiates    on   what  a  fool  I 

was!— 
Bowin'  down  my  head  because  it  alius  seems  that 

they 
Scold    me    sort    o'    friendly-like    because    I    went 

away; 

[24] 


Bowin'  down  my  head  with  shame,  yit   bear  it 

with  a  grin — 
I  can  stand  their  scoldin'  now,  'cause  I've  got 

home  ag'in. 

There  I  didn't  have  a  thing,  not  ary  patch  o'  sky — 
Here  I   own  'most  everything   around   me,   purty 

nigh, 
There  they  wa'n't  a  single  friend  to  smile  an'  say, 

"Hello!" 
Here  they  all  are  friends  o'  mine  an'  alius  treat 

me  so; 
There  they  wa'n't   a   single   voice   that   cared   to 

jine  in — 
Here  they  all  are  chorusin',  "We've  got  him  home 

ag'in!" 

Settin'  here  beside  the  hole  where  once  I  used  to  fish. 
Plumb  content  an'  happy  now  because  I  got  my 

wish! 
Got  my  senses  back  ag'in  an'  snicker  in  my  mind 
About  the  fortune  that  I  missed  an'  luck  I  left 

behind! 
Not  a  thing  to  do  but  loaf  an'  wait  the  dinner  call, 
Bait  my  hook  an'  wonder  why  I  ever  left  a'  tall. 
[25] 


GET  IN  STEP 

The  woodpecker's  "strum"  on  a  holler  elm-tree 
Is  the  best  sort  of  drum  that  ever  you  see — 

It's  better  a  lot 

Than  Herkimer  Knott 
Can  drum  in  our  band — that  is,  'cordin'  to  me. 

In  Spring  of  the  year  when  he's  sassy  and  fat, 
He  drums  special  loud  with  his  ratty-tat-tat, 

An'  special  fast,  too — 

So  lively  that  you 
Nor  no  other  mortal  could  keep  step  with  that. 

"Now,  ain't  that  'ere  drummin'  too  lively,"  says 

Tish, 
"For  every-day  marchin'?"     I  hanker  an'  wish 
An'  cock  up  my  eye: 
"It's  dependin',"  says  I, 
"If  a  feller  is  marchin'  to  work  or  to  fish!" 


26 


IN  A  STATE  OF  DELIGHT 

How's  a  feller  goin'  to  be 
Any  soberer  than  me, 
'Specially  when  the  first  of  Fall 
Eggs  him  onward  with  its  call? 

How's  a  feller  goin'  to  wear 
Sunday  looks,  when  I  declare 
There  ain't  nothin'  in  or  out 
That  a  man  can  frown  about? 

You  can  try  it!     As  for  me 

I  defy  propriety! 

Fall — an'  fun — an'  skies  of  blue — 

Them's  what  I  surrender  to! 

Old  woods  paths  an'  hauntin'  smells 
Here  ag'in,  that  sort  o'  spells 
Autumn  days  afield  an'  free — 
Only  jist  myself  an'  me! 
[27] 


Somehow  I  can  seem  to  hear 
Water  chucklin'  in  my  ear, 
From  the  crick-banks,  over  there 
Where  my  hopes  an'  ruthers  are! 

Trees  an'  woods  an'  meadows — all! — 
Seems  as  if  they're  tryin'  to  call 
Your  attention — Howdy-do! — 
Reachin'  out  their  hands  to  you. 

It  seems  I've  ketched  my  fish-hook  in 

The  seat  of  my  desires  ag'in, 

An'  it  pulls  me  on  the  run 

Away  from  work  an'  to'rds  some  fun! 

Every  old-fool  man  like  me 
Gits  devorced  from  dignity 
When  it's  Fall! — I  rise  to  say, 
I  can't  be  no  other  way! 


28 


APPERTAININ'  TO  AGE 

"What   makes   you   call   him   old  Dan   Fessman, 

pa?" 
I  once  made  bold  to  ask,  an'  he  says:  "Law! 
Because  he  is  Old  Dan!     He's  mighty  nigh 
His  ninety  year — an'  that's  good  reason  why!" 

"Why,  he  remembers,'*  pa  went  on  to  say, 
"And  told  me,  too,  a  lot  of  times,  the  day 
He  pulled  up  stakes  to  try  his  luck  out  Wes' 
When  all  this  here  was  howlin'  wilderness! 
He  'members   bears — the   first  white  child   'twas 

born 
In  the  county  here — an'  when  he  took  his  corn 
To  Parkin's  Crick,  a  hundred  miles  away, 
An'  give  up  half  to  have  it  ground!     An',  say, 
It    don't    seem    true,    but    Dan's    shot    many    a 

deer 
In  rifle-shot  of  this  piazzy  here! — 
An'  panthers,  too!     Why,  I  remember  one 
He  treed  down  there  beside  that  little  run 
[29] 


That  leads  through  town,  an'  killed  him  dead  's  a 

smelt, 
First  shot  he  made,  then  swapped  the  varmint's 

pelt 
To  Eckry  Smeed,  the  old  tin-peddlin'  man, 
For  a  pair  of  boots  an'  patent  warmin'-pan. 
He  'members  Tip,  th'  old  Miamy  chief, 
Who  used  to  stop  an'  ask  we'd  jist  as  lief 
He'd  stay  all  night — an'  make  a  pair  of  sheep 
Or  buckskin  slips  to  sort  o'  pay  his  keep? 
He  minds  the  time  they  built  the  County  Road, 
An'  helped  'em,  too,  an'  alius  claimed  he  showed 
First  pioneers  the  safest  way  to  git 
To  Fort  Delplain — the  route  folks  follers  yit! 
There's  nothin'  here,  I  guess,  unless  it's  this 
*Ere  soil  itself,  as  old  as  Fessman  is!" 

"But  you,"  I  says,  "remember  all  these  things!" 
"An'  what  if  I  do?"  he  shouts  at  me  an'  brings 
His  fist  down  hard,  an'  adds,  so  stern  an'  cold, 
"It  ain't  no  sign  that  /  am  gittin'  old!" 


30] 


AT  THE  REUNION 

(Gettysburg,   1913) 

Here's  the  way  the  layout  was: 

There's  your  hne 
Frontin'  on  the  Henry  House — 

Here  was  mine; 
There  was  Jackson's  Corps  an'  Bee, 
Beauregard  an' — lemme  see — 

Jake  Rapine 
He  stood  there,  an'  'Lijah  Rouse, 

Yes,  an'  me. 

First  we  knowed  we  heerd  a  gun — 

or  smooth  bore! — 
Boomin'  off  to'rds  Warrenton 

A  mile  or  more; 
Jake  Rapine  he  hollers:    "See! 

Shindig  starts  right  here!"  says  he. 
"Now  there's  war!" 
Why,  there  wasn't  nary  a  one 
Close  as  me! 

[31] 


You  remember,  I  suppose, 

How  we  fit? 
Won  the  record,  Lordy  knows! — 

Hold  it  yit! 
'Cross  the  Branch  an'  Turnpike,  too — 
First  the  Gray  an'  then  the  Blue 

Took  the  bit! 
Lots  o'  times  I  got  as  close 

As  me  an'  you! 

Well,  I  s'pose  you  'ain't  fergot 

Who  won  the  day? 
Never  will,  as  like  as  not — 

That's  your  zvay! 
Still,  I've  alius  claimed  instid 
Of  a  rout  that  we  jist  slid 

Off—     What  say?— 
When  the  others  run  I  got, 

'Cause  they  did! 

Down  the  road  to'rds  Centerville 

Where  I  lit, 
I  slowed  up  beside  a  rill — 

Tried  t'  git 

[32] 


A  drink  t'  stop  my  dad-burned  thirst- 
Sprawled  right  out  an' — then  the  worst! 

I  see  y*  yit! — 
There  come  your  folks,  lickety-spill 

Bay'nuts  first! 

Well,  I  felt  my  speerits  sink 

Ten  below! — 
I  let  out  another  link 

An'  let  'er  go, 
Racin'  like  a  bee-stung  cow! 
Come  t'  think  of  it,  I  vow 

Seems  as  though 
I  never  did  git  that  'ere  drink! — 

Les  have  it  now! 


l33l 


THE  MUSE  OUTDONE 

I've  rhymed  the  wood  an'  the  pasture  ways, 
The  threshers'  song  an'  the  roundelays 
Of  birds  in  Spring,  an'  the  river's  sheen, 
The  roadside  touched  with  the  Apurl  green, 
The  first  pink  bloom  in  the  orchard  trees. 
The  lilacs  an'  the  drone  of  bees, 
"An'  now,"  I  says  to  myself,  says  I, 
"Til  take  my  pen  in  my  hand  to  try 
An'  tackle  things  on  a  bigger  plan. 
An'  rhyme  the  cheer  of  a  happy  man." 


The  cheer  of  a  happy  man!     Now  there's 
A  theme  for  the  poet  who  really  dares! — 
A  happy  feller  who's  out  of  debt, 
An'  'ain't  done  nothin'  that  he'd  forget. 
Like  some  folks  have! — an'  whose  testin'  plumb 
Hangs  straight  an'  true  on  his  life  at  hum — 
An  honest  man  who  can  meet  the  eye 
Of  any  naybor  who  passes  by, 
[34] 


An'  call  him  "friend"  with  an  honest  will — 
Now  there's  a  theme  that  '11  test  your  skill! 

I  tried  my  hand,  but  my  aim  went  wrong !^ 
My  lines  was  short  when  his  laughs  was  long, 
My  lines  run  long  when  his  woes  was  short, 
An'  nothin'  else  went  the  way  it  ort! 
His  song  is  simple,  but  every  time 
Outsings  the  best  of  a  feller's  rhyme. 
An'  makes  his  chords  an'  his  music,  that 
He  liked  the  best  an'  had  banked  on,  flat! 
The  kind  of  cheer  that  your  rhymes  won't  catch. 
An'  nary  a  word  in  our  song  can  match! 


35 


THE  OLD  CEDAR  CHEST 

Searching  through  the  cedar  chest! 
What  a  rare,  alluring  quest — 
What  a  store. of  things  forgot 
Come  to  light  of  day  unsought! 
Broken  plates,  a  little  shoe. 
Marbles,  and  a  top  or  two. 
Colored  string  in  tangled  lots, 
Twined  and  tied  in  hopeless  knots- 
Tangles  that,  as  days  depart. 
Tighter  bind  some  aching  heart. 


Wrinkled  faces,  quaintly  framed — 
Long  forgotten,  long  unnamed — 
Peering  from  daguerreotypes; 
Locks  of  hair  and  bubble  pipes. 
Tattered  books  whose  pages  hint 
Smudgy  thumb  and  fingerprint — 
Telltale  prints  that  seem  to  be 
Long  lost  keys  to  Memory 
[36I 


Found  again,  and  turned  to  show 
Baby  hands  of  Long  Ago. 

Old  and  gray,  it  holds  aloof 
Underneath  the  attic  roof — 
None  to  see  it,  none  to  care, 
Vet  it  guards  its  keepsakes  there; 
Treasure  trove  of  smiles  and  tears — 
Heartbeats  of  forgotten  years — 
Little  things  that  whisper  of 
Some  one's  sorrow,  some  one's  love; 
Some  one's  life — its  very  best — 
Holders  in  the  cedar  chest! 


[37] 


WITHOUT  INTRODUCTION 

I'm  friendly  with  purty  nigh  all  of  the  birds 

That  chirrups  or  whistles  or  sings. 
I   love   'em,   that's   all! — an'   the   depths  o'   them 
words 

Don't  measure  my  love  for  the  things! 
Vet  Simms  alius  says — an'  I'm  proud  of  it,  too, 
For  Vet  ought  t'  know,  if  any  folks  do — 
"There's   nothin'   on   earth    but  '11   make    up   to 
you, 

With  feathers  an'  wings!'* 

The  robin  I  like,  an'  the  "hi-hole"  an'  crow 

In  spite  of  his  fambly  of  thieves; 
The  birds  that  stick  by  us  through  blizzard  an' 
snow, 

The  pewee  around  in  the  leaves; 
The  jaybird  that  struts  in  his  cutaway  coat, 
A-mockin'  his  betters  an'  swellin'  his  th'oat. 
An'  fillin'  his  craw  with  lots  more  than  his  groat 

From  farmers'  sheaves. 
[38] 


I  love  'em  an'  reckon  they  care  for  me,  too. 

To-day  didn't  one  of  'em  light 
A  rod  or  two  off  when  he'd  orter  'a'  flew 

Skedaddlin'  off  out  o'  sight? 
But  no,  he  jist  "howdy-ed"  as  pert  as  could  be! 
*'I  reckon  you've  got  the  advantage  of  me," 
I  says,  jist  in  fun,  an'  the  rascal,  says  he: 

"Old— Bob— White." 


[39] 


A  DREAM  PLACE 

I  dreamed  a  place  of  happy  youth, 

A  place  of  fun  and  laughter. 
Where  Worry,  with  a  wrinkled  frown. 
Limped  aimlessly  around  the  town 

With  children  trooping  after, 
Until  they  charmed  the  faintest  trace 
Of  worry  from  his  troubled  face. 

And  Care,  red-eyed  from  sleeplessness, 

Was  jostled  here  and  yonder 
By  happy  Youth,  with  hearts  as  free 
As  ever  hearts  of  Youth  can  be. 

Until  Care  paused  to  ponder. 
Then  felt  his  burden  slip  away, 
And  lo!    he  stepped  as  light  as  they. 

But,  best  of  all  my  dream  I  found 

A  shop  where  hearts  were  mended. 
Where  hearts  grown  dead  and  scarred  and  old 
Were  soldered  with  the  purest  gold 
And  made  as  God  Intended, 


Responsive  to  the  wholesome  glee 
Of  children  as  they  used  to  be. 

A  dream!    And  yet  I  half  believe 

A  promise  lies  behind  it — 
A  promise  that  by  some  good  grace 
There  may  be  such  a  happy  place. 

And  mayhap  we  shall  find  it, 
And  lose  our  cares  and  worries,  too, 
And  all  be  made  as  good  as  new. 


I41I 


AN  OLD-FASHIONED  RHYME 

Just  a  plain,  old-fashioned  rhyme, 

For  she  would  have  it  so — 
Something  with  a  mellow  chime 

To  sing  the  Long  Ago, 
Ere  her  hair  had  turned  so  gray, 

And  she  was  left  alone, 
When  her  life  was  smiles  alway 

To  share  them  with  her  own — 
Time  when  half  in  tears  and  jest 

She  turned  aside  to  smother 
Childish  troubles  at  her  breast, 

That  sainted  friend — our  mother! 


Sing  of  love  and  home  again, 
And  all  that  home  has  been — 

Sing  it — ah,  a  sweet  refrain 
With  scent  of  blossoms  in; 

Sing  the  garden  path — and  more, 
The  old  swing  gate  and  the 
[42] 


Hollyhocks  around  the  door 

She  raised  so  tenderly; 
Sing  it  truly,  sing  it  sweet 

'Til  breezes  speak  the  other 
Rhyme  that  makes  the  song  complete, 

The  holy  name  of  "Mother." 

Then,  O  singer,  tone  your  song 

Until  it  seems  to  come 
From  the  hearts  of  men  who  long 

For  youth  again  and  home; 
Men  grown  weary  of  the  quest. 

Whose  truest  feelings  stir 
At  the  thought  of  home  and  rest. 

And  the  soft,  sweet  voice  of  her; 
Bid  them  back  by  charms  untold. 

And  home  again,  to  smother 
Earthly  troubles,  as  of  old, 

In  the  shielding  arms  of  mother! 


[43] 


THE  MISSING   BOYS 

What's  become  of  all  them  boys,  the  boys  I  used 

to  know 
Before  they  laid  the  town  lots  out  an'  young  'uns 

used  to  go 
Where  Fun  and  Fancy  beckoned  them,  by  paths 

that  led  away 
Through    open    fields    and    pasture    lands    that's 

folkses'  yards  to-day! — 
By  old  cowpaths  that  led  away  through  lazy  days 

an'  sweet, 
An'  ended  in  the  maples'  shade  where  young  'uns 

used  to  meet 
And  bring  the  loot  from  pantry  raids — the  home- 
made bread  an'  jam — 
Then  wash  the  stains  of  guilt  away  in  Ezry  Scoul- 

ler's  dam. 

What's  become  of  all  them  boys,  the  boys  I  used 

to  know. 
That  knowed  the  secrets  of  the  woods  an'  knowed 

right  where  to  go 

[44] 


To  find  the  first  arbutses  an'  dared  the  green- 
eyed  peril 

To  lay  'em  on  the  altar  of  some  other  feller's  girl? — 

They  knowed  where  was  the  sweet-flag,  where  the 
bullheads  bit  the  best. 

Where  wild  bees  hid  their  summer  stores  an' 
where  the  hang-bird's  nest 

Hung  lower  from  the  cottonwood — an'  never  used 
to  stir 

The  limb  until  her  young  was  out — an*  made  a 
friend  of  her. 

What's  become  of  all  them  boys?    An'  through 

my  dreams  I  see 
The  only  one  of  all  the  lot  that's  gittin'  old  is  me! 
The  rest  go  trompin'  'cross  my  sight  an'  driftin' 

through  my  mind 
As  blithely  as  they  used  to  do  before  I  got  so  blind! 
It's  just  a  trick  of  Memory,  a  riddle  of  the  years. 
An'  still  it  sets  me  waverin'  'twixt  covet'ness  an' 

tears! 
I  reckon  that  the  saddest  words  is  askin',  soft  an' 

low, 
"Now  what's  become  of  all  them  boys,  the  boys 

I  used  to  know?" 

[45] 


WHEN  THE  STAGE  CAME  IN 

When  the  stage  came  in!    When  the  stage  came 

in! 
With  its  rumble  and  rattle  and  jangle  and  din, 
From  out  of  the  East  it  careened  into  town. 
Nor  all  of  the  dust  stains  that  coated  it  brown 
Could  cover  the  shimmer  of  red  and  of  gold 
That  flamed  from  its  side  like  a  chariot  of  old. 
Ho!    life  and  its  living  fair  seemed  to  begin 
When  the  stage  came  in! 

When  the  stage  came  in!    When  the  stage  came 

in! 
The  villagers  greeted  their  kith  and  their  kin; 
The  strangers  climbed  down  from  their  perches 

to  stretch 
Their  limbs,  and  the  youngsters  competed  to  fetch 
A  gourd  of  water  to  that  one  or  this — 
A  wearied  old  man  or  a  blossom-cheeked  miss, 
Wonderful  people,  in  mem'ry  they  seem, 
Who  came  from  afar  in  the  city  of  dream! 
I  46] 


What  an  occasion  new  friendships  to  win, 
When  the  stage  came  in! 

When  the  stage  came  in!     When  the  stage  came 

in! 
The  mail-boot  was  opened  and   friends  who  had 

been 
Forgotten  for  long,  whispered  messages  fraught 
With  love  through  the  lines  that  the  stage-driver 

brought; 
A  travel-stained  letter  from  *'kin  in  the  West," 
A  letter,  tear-stained,  of  a  friend  gone  to  rest, 
A  love  note,  a  worry,  a  smile,  and  a  care 
All  came  from  afar  to  the  villagers  there — 
Oh,  what  a  testing  of  hearts  there  has  been 
When  the  stage  came  in! 

When  the  stage  went  on!    When  the  stage  went 

on! 
And    rolled    out   of  sight   on   the    pike   and   was 

gone. 
The  village  turned  back  to  its  simpler  ways, 
Its  twilights  and  gloamings  and  somnolent  days. 
Its  comings  and  goings  and  plain  *' howdy-do's," 
Its  sorrows  and  joys  and  its  country-side  news; 
[47] 


And  dreamed  of  the  wonders  and  riches  and  fame 
Off  there  in  the  East  whence  the  stage  always 

came; 
Oh,  Hfe  and  the  best  of  its  living  was  gone 
When  the  stage  went  on! 


A  COMMON  FELLER 

May  the  folks  that  pine  for  riches, 

As  the  sayin'  is,  succeed; 
Here's  a  common  feller's  wishes 

That  they  gather  all  they  need. 
May  the  Lord  see  fit  to  prosper 

From  the  boundless  store  o'  Fiis — 
Give  'em  wealth  and  things  a-plenty 

If  that's  what  their  ruthers  is. 

But  for  me,  my  taste  is  simple — 

Jist  a  humble  home  will  be 
The  thing,  with  flowers  round  it, 

Sort  o'  sharin'  things  with  me; 
Not  too  big  a  house,  but  prob'ly 

Story  and  a  half,  an'  jis' 
Filled  with  love  until  it  bulges — 

Jist  about  the  size  o'  this! 

Then  I'd  fill  it  up  with  children, 
Every  breed  the  doctor's  got — 

Bow-leg  boys  an'  girls  red-headed, 
Tongue-tied  too,  as  like  as  not! 

[49] 


Not  too  full  of  fun  an'  mischief, 
Nor  so  good  they're  overpowerin', 

But  the  kind  that's  which-an'-t'other, 
Jist  about  the  likes  o'  ourn! 

Then  I'd  have  to  have  a  pardner 

Who  could  sort  o'  mother  them — 
Who  could  patch  their  duds  an'  sew  'em, 

Stitchin*  love  in  every  hem; 
One  of  them  there  sort  o'  wimin 

Heaven  meant  to  see  us  through — 
One  who's  extraordinary, 

Jist  about  the  likes  o'  you! 

May  the  folks  that  pine  for  riches, 

As  the  sayin'  is,  succeed; 
Here's  a  common  feller's  wishes 

That  they  gather  all  they  need. 
'Tain't  for  me  to  tell  'em  how  they're 

Overlookin'  happinuss, 
But  the  richest  folks  is  people 

Jist  about  the  size  of  us! 


[50] 


THE  ARMY  OF  DAWN 

The  Army  of  Dawn,  it  treads  the  city  street 
All  robed  in  gray,  and  with  the  victory  won 

Of  yesterday,  it  hghtens  leaden  feet 

And  quickens  them  to  meet  the  rising  sun — 

To  greet  the  day  and  all  the  veiled  events 
Concealed   from  those  who  face  the  world   at 
dawn — 

The  tearful  woes,  and,  too,  the  sweet  contents 
The  day  may  bring  before  the  light  is  gone. 

The  Army  of  Dawn,  it  straggles  from  the  fight 
A  battle  won  and  honor  safe  with  men. 

To  bivouac  when  weariness  and  night 

Come  on  apace  and  starlight  shines  again. 


SI 


NOVEMBER! 

First  it  rains  and  then  it  snows, 

That's  November! 
Then  some  slush,  an'  so  it  goes 

Through  November! 
The  first  you  know  the  sun  '11  shine 
For  jist  a  spell,  then  go  behin' 
A  dad-burned   cloud!     A  mortal's  heart 

Will  drop  'bout  twenty-six  below, 
Then,  sudden-like,  it  gits  a  start 
An'  shines  again  before  you  know — 

That's  November! 


Eaves  a-drippin'  all  day  long — 

That's  November! 
Alius  seems  there's  somethin'  wrong 

In  November! 
Plumb  out  o'  livin,  seems  to  me!— 
Laughs  an'  tears  alternately! 
[52] 


It  'pears  to  me,  as  I  observe, 

It's  on  the  line  'twixt  hay  an'  grass — 
A  leetle  soon  for  canned  persarve, 

An'  jist  too  late  for  garden  sass! — 
That's  November! 


[53] 


GRANDPA'S  REJUVENATION 

I  guess  my  gran'pa's  oldest  man 
There  ever  was  or  ever  can 
Be  ennywheres,  with  whiskers  that 
His  brefF  freezed  in  when  Winter's  at; 
An'  he's  got  hair  that's  long  an'  white 
'Cept  on  the  top — that's  shiny  bright 
Where  our  hairs  is  that  we  comb  back — 
An'  he  so  old  he's  ist  lost  track! 

An'  'isterday,  my  muver  say, 

Was  gran'pa's  an-ni-ver-ser-ay 

Of  war-times  when  the  army  was, 

An'  that's  long  time  ago,  because 

It's  long  before  he  ever  see 

Or  ever  heard  of  ma  an'  me. 

Or  knowed  our  names  was  same  as  that — 

Or  where  our  folks  was  livin'  at. 

An'  'isterday  he  went  up-stair 
An'  hollered  down  to  muver,  "Where 
[54] 


Is  them  ol'  army  traps  of  mine 
That  I  brung  home?"  an'  then  he  fin' 
His  ol'  blue  hat  an'  roundabout 
That  left  his  stummick  stickin'  out 
An'  wouldn't  go  around  him,  'cause 
He's  fatter  'n  when  the  army  was. 

An'  when  he  gits  'em  on  he  ist 
Ack  drefFul-like,  an'  only  missed 
Ma's  lookin'-glass  by  ist  a  hair, 
An'  swung  his  cane  around  him  there! 
Then  he-says-he,  "Now  there,  my  son, 
That's  how  I  looked  in  'sixty-one!" 
An'  funniest  thing  I  saw,  fer  shore. 
That  gran'pa  wasn't  old  no  more! 


55 


THE  THREE  FAVORS 

There's  three  things  in  life  that  I've  alius  said 
There's  nuthin'  one  arth  that  kin  beat  'em — 

The  two  first  are  slices  of  home-made  bread, 
An'  the  third  is  the  stummick  t'  eat  'em! 


[56 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Tall,  gaunt,  stooped  with  the  weight  of  toil. 
Eyes  made  sharp  by  the  mountain  distances, 

Hands  gnarled,  stained  with  the  virgin  soil. 
Instincts  keen  to  the  new-world  mysteries — 

Thus  he  comes  from  his  mountain  wildness  hence, 

Down  the  trail  to  the  lowland  settlements. 

Fear,  dread,  stamped  on  his  rugged  face. 
Timid  quite,  as  his  wildest  fancies  strike — 

He — there — in  the  crowded  market-place. 

Mingling  there  with  the  creatures  so  unlike! 

Oft  he  stops  and  his  dread  nigh  drives  him  back 

Back  up  there  by  the  mountain's  friendly  track. 

Mute,  lone,  back  from  the  crowd  he  stands, 
Back  from  where  the  glib-tongued  trader  plies. 

Throngs  pass,  gaze  at  his  knotted  hands, 

Homespun  clothes,  and  look  in  his  longing  eyes — 

Jest,  perhaps,  and  he  winces,  dreading  this 

More  than  feuds  or  the  mountain  adder's  hiss! 
[57] 


Cold,  dark,  out  of  the  East  comes  night, 

Starlight    guides    the    hills    man    through    the 
gloom — 

Up — on — climbing  with  all  his  might, 

Back  again  to  God's  high-ceilinged  room; 

Now  he  smiles  and  his  happy  being  thrills — 

Home  again,  with  the  men  who  tame  the  hills! 


58 


HEART  SHRINES 

The  city  streets,  with  its  smiles  and  tears, 

The  quickened  steps  and  the  lagging,  slow; 
The  touch  of  youth  and  the  touch  of  years, 

And  countless  things  that  we  cannot  know! 
The  saddest  face  of  them  all  may  hide 

The  sweetest  smile  and  a  world  of  cheer — 
The  brightest  face  in  the  human  tide 

May  yield  a  sigh  or  a  bitter  tear 
For  a  far-off  spot  where  the  grasses  wave 
Tremulous  o'er  a  loved  one's  grave. 

The  weakest  heart  of  them  all,  and  frail, 

May  hold  the  strongest  to  faith  and  hope; 
The  stoutest  heart  of  them  all  may  fail. 

Too  full  of  sorrow  and  tears  to  cope 
With    life's    grim    test.     Though    they    give    the 
smiles, 

Not  all  of  the  smiles  they  grant  are  true — 
Too  many  dream  of  the  Afterwhiles 

And  the  meetings  there,  if  we  only  knew — 
[59] 


If  we  knew,  the  happiest  hearts  repine 
And  lay  their  love  at  a  far-off  shrine. 

The  city  streets,  with  its  smiles  and  tears! 

We  never  know,  as  we  pass  them  by, 
The  saddening  doubt  and  the  present  fears 

That  pride  conceals  where  the  masses  ply; 
'Tis  best  to  stand  where  the  eddies  move. 

And  take  it  all  for  the  sum  it's  worth — 
Believe  all  the  love  is  an  actual  love. 

And  all  the  laughter  is  honest  mirth. 
Though  laughter  covers,  as  like  as  not, 
A  sorrow  shrined  in  a  far-off  spot. 


[60] 


THE  LITTLE  LACE  LADY 

The  little  lace  lady  lives  over  the  way, 
An'  ever'  day  watches  us  children  at  play, 
An'  sometimes  she  says  to  us  won't  we  come  in 
To  get  some  brown  cookies  fresh  out  of  the  tin 
That   she's    been    a-bakin'    from?      Then  we    say 

yes, 
An'  eat  purty  nigh  the  hull  bakin',  I  guess, 
'Til  she  puts  'em   up  'cause  she  says    she    don't 

know 
Our  mothers  would  thank  her  for  temptin'  us  so. 

The  little  lace  lady  that's  over  the  way 
Has  little  bits  wrinkles  an'  hair's  turnin'  gray 
Like  grandmother's  is,  an'  the  lady  can't  'splain 
'Cept  "mebbe  her  life  has  been  too  full  o'  rain," 
An'  now  that  it's  over  the  best  of  her  joys 
Is  bakin'  brown  cookies  for  wee  girls  an'  boys. 
An'  the  best  of  her  pleasures  is  takin'  her  walks 
'Mongst  "posies  she  loved,"  which  was  roses  an' 
hocks. 

f6il 


An'  once  when  I  vis-i-ted  her  all  alone 
She  dressed  me  all  up  in  some  things  of  her  own — 
Some  little  red  shoes  with  tassels  on,  too, 
An'  little  flounce  frock,  with  a  hat  made  o'  blue 
With  trimmin'  stuff  on,  an'  the  lace  lady  cries, 
An'  hugged  me  an'  telled  me  to  not  be  surpris' 
At  her  on  account  of  what  memory  brings — 
An'  telled  me  "how  purty  I  looked  in  her  things." 


[62] 


THE  MIDDLE  ONE 

I  hold  that  children,  by  an'  large, 

Whatever  be  their  breed  or  brand, 
Are  just  about  the  finest  crops 

For  any  sort  of  thrivin'  land; 
I  like  'em  all! — the  yellin'  kind 

Or  quiet  little  fellers — shoo! 
There's  nothin'  that's  more  lovable 

Than  a  young  'un — 'less  it's  tzvo! 
I  'lectioneer  for  all  of  'em 

The  same  as  what  I've  alius  done, 
But  when  occasions  come  for  me 
To  mebbe  show  partiality 

I'm  alius  for  the  middle  one! 

The  oldest  in  the  fambly,  she 
Is  natcherly  the  joy  an'  pride — 

The  youngest — bein'  baby — well, 
He's  alius  special  glorified; 

But  round  behind  the  pantry  door 
Or  down  in  underneath  the  bed, 
[^3\ 


A  body's  alius  apt  to  find 

Another  little  tousle-head 
That's  alius  playin'  by  hisself 

An'  kind  o'  peggin'  on  alone, 
'Cept  mebbe,  when  there's  company,  maw 
Shows  off  the  rest  an'  then  says,  "Law! 

Now  where  on  earth's  that  middle  one?" 


The  middle  one!     His  loneliness 

Just  waters  from  them  eyes  o'  his; 
He  never  has  no  toys  except 

"The  leavin's,"  as  the  sayin'  is; 
The  doll  the  oldest  used  to  have, 

Or  things  the  baby's  tired  of — 
There  ain't  a  single  thing  on  earth 

But  second-handed  things  to  love! 
There's  times  I  watch  the  little  tyke, 

My  wizzen  swells  an'  eyes  grow  dim- 
It  seems  to  me  that  all  outdoor 
Knows  'zackly  what  he's  longin'  for, 

An'  tries  to  be  a  friend  to  him! 

Donblame  their  pictures,  anyhow! 

How  lonesome-like  an'  sweet  they  be- 
[64I 


They  seem  to  be  the  special  charge 

Of  fellers  'bout  the  size  o'  me! — 
Old  fellers  who  *ain't  got  a  thing 

For  tinkerin'  or  thinkin'  of, 
*Cept  traipsin'  up  an'  down  the  world 

An'  look  for  unloved  things  to  love! 
I  wish  I  had  the  "middle  ones." 

I  swan,  I'd  snatch  'em  hide  an'  hem 
An'  take  'em  to  the  fields  an'  nooks 
That's  in  the  oldest's  picture-books, 

An'  waste  my  share  of  love  on  them! 


65 


"HOW'S  THE   FAMBLY?" 

"How's  the  fambly?"      Heered  him  say 
Them  cheerin'  words  jist  that-a-way 
A  dozen  times  a  day,  or  more, 
Jist  like  we  hadn't  met  before; 
Meant  it,  too,  as  much  at  last 
As  what  he  did  when  first  he  ast; 
It  seemed  a  part  of  every  day 
A-hearin'  Abel  Martin  say, 
"How's  the  fambly?" 


Ab's  idee  of  fambly  meant 
About  the  hull  durned  regiment, 
Settin'  hens  an'  all,  an'  when 
He'd  ast  about  'em,  seemed  that  then 
Somethin'  touched  me  that-a-way 
That  I  couldn't  help  but  say, 
"They're  all  well,  an'  'bleeged  to  you 
For  astin'  'bout  the  family,  too — 
How's  your  fambly?" 
[66] 


"How's  the  fambly?"     Lawsey  me! 
How  hullsomelike    that    used    to    be 
'Fore  he  got  his  second  stroke, 
An*  got  so  bad  that  when  he  spoke 
He  couldn't  make  a  word  or  sound, 
Only  twitch  his  lips  around! 
Yit  we  knowed  that  first  an'  last 
The  good  old  soul  was  tryin'  to  ast, 
"How's  the  fambly?" 

"How's  the  fambly?"     Now,  I  swan. 
We  miss  it  lots  since  he's  been  gone!- 
It  seems  there's  jist  a  bit  of  cheer 
We  used  to  like  that's  missin'  here. 
Words  we  didn't  'preciate 
An*  never  will  until  the  Gate 
Opens  There  some  blessed  day 
An'  Ab's  a-waitin'  there  to  say, 
"How's  the  fambly?" 


67 


THE   HIRED  MAN  SAYS: 

A  dad-burned  hen  that  wants  t'  set — 

Now  there's  the  blamedest  fool  thing  yet! 

She'll  set  on  nails  or  Chiny  eggs 

Or  vegetables,  or  wrap  her  legs 

Around  door-knobs,  or  ennything 

A  man  puts  under  her,  I  jing! 

An'  there  she'll  set  from  morn  'til  night 

Without  a-lookin'  left  or  right, 

An'  do  the  work — in  spite  o'  you! — 

The  Lord  cut  out  for  her  t'  do! 

Jist  minds  her  business — eyes  t'  front! — 
Like  me  an'  you  an'  others  won't! 
She  ain't  no  hand  for  circus  shows 
Nor  sheriff  sales,  where  mortals  goes 
An'  shirk  their  work!     She  stays  behind 
With  only  one  idee  in  mind: 
T'  save  her  brood  from  hawks,  or  pup, 
An'  fin'lly  raise  her  fambly  up, 
An'  raise  'em  like  they'd  orter  be! — 
A  fine  example,  'pears  t'  me! 
168  1 


THE  CHILDHEARTS 

The  childhearts!     Where  are  they  to  be? 
Around  the  fields,  or  underneath   a  tree 
In  orchard  lands,  that  blossom  white  as  snow? 
Do  we  find  the  childhearts  there? 
Oh  no,  no! 

In  rosied  ways  that  lead  to  meadows  fair. 
In  woodlands  green  or  yellow  as  their  hair — 
Where  streams  smile  back  and  sing  them  soft  and 

low- 
Do  we  find  the  childhearts  there? 
Oh  no,  no! 


Afar,  perhaps,  some  shrine  of  Childhood  is. 
Beyond  the  hills  and  Summer's  boundaries — 
In  Youth's   playspots  where   sumachs   flame   and 

glow  ? 
Do  we  find  the  childhearts  there? 
Oh  no,  no! 
[69] 


Or  yet,  at  home,  where  all  about  are  hints 
That  Youth  is  here — the  telltale  fingerprints, 
The  toys  mislaid  and  scattered  to  and  fro — 
Do  we  find  the  childhearts  there? 
Oh  no,  no! 

We  seek  in  vain,  for  Youth  is  much  a  sage. 
And  Age  is  Youth,  and  Youth,  alas,  is  Age! — 
The  heart  of  youth.  Youth  can  but  seldom  show! 
We  don't  find  the  childhearts  there! 
Oh  no,  no! 

The  ci  ildhearts  beat  within  the  breasts  of  men 
Who've  journeyed  far  and  then  turned  back  again 
With  thankfulness,  to  live  in  Childhood's  spell! 
So  we  find  the  childhearts  here. 

Well!     Well!     Well! 


[70 


THE  MIGRATORY  FRIEND 

Howdy,  Mister  Blackbird — howdy,  an'  good-by! 

From  your  fuss  I  take  it  that  you're  fixin'  up  to 
fly- 

Plumin'  up  your  feathers  an'  your  wings  are  work- 
in'  prime — 

Goin'  to  flutter  Southwards  where  it's  Summer  all 
the  time. 

Frost  was  out  this  mornin'  an'  it  seared  the  mead- 
ows brown — 

Barefoot  young  'uns  wanned  their  feet  where  cows 
was  layin'  down; 

Fall  is  sure  a-comin' — I  can  sort  o'  feel  it,  'cause 

Boys  an'  birds  ain't  chipper  ner  as  sassy  as  they 
was! 

Hear  the  axes  ringin'  an'  the  joltin'  of  the  load, 
Bringin'  heaps  of  cordwood  down    the    corduroy 
road, 

[71] 


Cordwood  cut  to  measure  you  can  pile  up  heapln' 

high 
In  the  kitchen  fireplace  when  the  snow  begins  to 

fly. 

Days  are  gittin'  shorter  an'  I  'low  'fore  very  long 
Weather  '11  be  so  frosty  it  would  freeze  a  Baptist 

song! 
Then  till  March  or  April  there'll  be  nothin'  much 

to  do 
'Cept    to    set    an'    listen    to    the    wind's    eternal 

**Wh-o-o-o— " 

Good-by,  Mister  Blackbird,  an'  T  hope  you'll  like 

it  prime 
When  you're  flittin'  Southward  where  there  ain't 

no  Winter-time, 
Where  it's  alius  Summer  an'  as  smilin'  as  the  sky — 
Lordy,  Mister  Blackbird,  how  I  w^ish  that  I  could 

fly! 


72] 


WHEN  YOUTH   WAS    HERE 

Youth  was  here  but  yesterday  and   romped  this 

sunny  slope, 
It  filled  the  air  with  wholesome  cheer  and  filled 

our  hearts  with  hope; 
It  worked  its  magic  on  the  trees,   the  meadow- 
lands  and  brooks. 
And  put  the  touch  of  mystery  on  woodland  brakes 

and  nooks, 
It   peopled  yonder  smiling   sky  with   boyish  faces 

bright, 
And  gave  to  each  familiar  thing  a  new  and  sweet 

delight; 
It  made  the  world  a  perfect  world  to  wander  in 

and  play, 
And  so  it  stays,  for  happy  Youth  was  here  but 

yesterday. 

Youth  was  here  but  yesterday !    To  yonder  little  run 
It  gave  a  silvery  song  to  sing  whilst  flashing  in 
the  sun; 

[73] 


It  touched  the  fields  where  grasses  wave  and  clovei 

blooms  so  sweet, 
And  made  them  pleasant  to  the  tread  of  unshod 

boyish  feet; 
It  gave  the  skies  the  art  to  smile,  the  birds  their 

song  to  sing. 
And  each  and  all  to  harmonize  with  every  smiling 

thing, 
In  turn  to  chord  with  singing  hearts  of  boys  and 

girls  at  play — 
All  this  it  did  when  happy  Youth  was  here  but 

yesterday. 

Youth   was  here   but   yesterday   and,   coming  to 

depart, 
It    left    the    boon    of    Memory    to    ever    aging 

heart — 
It  left  the  art  of  calling  back  the  Summer  paths 

and  ways. 
Familiar  spots  and  faces,  too,  and  friends  of  other 

days — 
The  meadowland,  the  winding   road,  the  valley, 

and  the  hill. 
And  places  in  the  happy  past  where  fancies  linger 

still; 

I74l 


But,  best  of  all,  to  hosts  of  men  whom  Time  has 

touched  with  gray, 
It  left  the  thought  that  happy  Youth  was  here 

but  yesterday. 


l7Sl 


THE  VAGRANT  BLESSINGS 

Where  is  the  laughter  that's  lost  in  the  world? 

And  where  is  the  parentless  song? 
Where  is  the  cheer  that  the  optimists  here 

Have  spread  in  the  wandering  throng? 
Where  is  the  kindness  that  people  have  loosed? 

And  where  are  the  love  and  the  care? 
Where  are  the  seeds  of  the  kindlier  deeds 

That  people  have  scattered  here?     Where? 

Laughter    found    lodgment   where   great   was   the 

need, 
And  Love  found  a  home  with  the  lone; 

Cheer  is  the  guest  of  the  poor  and  distressed, 
And  Care  where  it  never  was  known; 

Goodness  has  mellowed  the  hardest  of  hearts, 
And  kindness  has  tempered  the  woe — 

Sorrow  and  trials  have  blossomed  in  smiles 
And  Life  is  the  sweeter,  we  know! 


[76] 


THE  CHRONICLES  OF  A  YOUNG  'UN 

My  Uncle  William,  he  come  'way 

From  York  State  here!     He's  gonna  stay 

With  pa  an'  ma  an'  me  a  spell, 

'Til  his  pneumogastric  nerve  gits  well. 

He's  all  shot  up,  he  says,  an'  just 

Has  reached  the  point  his  stomach  must 

Have  rest  an'  ease  until  it  sorter 

Can  do  the  work  a  stomach  orter. 

My  Uncle  William,  he's  ist  rich 
As  all  git  out,  an'  he's  got  sich 
A  lot  of  comforts — motor-car 
An'  everything  on  earth  they  are 
To  make  a  man  content,  an'  yit 
He  ist  can't  seem  to  'bide  by  it! — 
He  travels  'round  like  crazy  feller 
An'  ist  gits  sick  a-gittin'  tvellerl 

An'  yesterday,  when  mother  she 
Was  bakin'  an'  she  called  to  me 


An'  told  me  if  I  ist  set  down 
My  pie-crust  patty  'II  soon  be  brown. 
My  uncle  ist  don't  say  a  word 
'Til  bimeby  he  say:    *'Good  Lord! 
I  wonder  what  I'd  give  if  I  just 
Dast  to  eat  a  hunk  of  pie  crust!" 


[78] 


WHEN  THE  DRUMS  GO  BY 

When  the  drums  go  by!     With  their  rat-a-tat-tat. 
They  tell  the  tale  that  the  blood  leaps  at! 
They  mirror  the  picture  of  war's  alarm, 
With  all  the  spectacular,  savage  charm; 
Each  sob  is  an  echo  that  breeds  a  thrill, 
A  whisper  from  Shiloh  or  Malvern  Hill; 
A  word  from  the  ages  that  yours  and  mine — 
Our  fathers — were  part  of  the  thin  blue  line. 

And  hearts  beat  high 

When  the  drums  go  by! 

When  the  drums  go  by!     When  each  muffled  head 
Is  throbbing  the  march  of  the  soldier  dead, 
And  there  in  the  lead,  in  the  place  he  earned. 
His  riderless  horse  with  the  stirrups  turned; 
'Tis  then  we  know  of  the  price  he  paid. 
And  all  the  glamour  and  glitter  fade; 
The  drums  mourn  deep  at  the  awful  cost, 
And  beat  the  roll  of  the  soldiers  lost. 

And  brave  hearts  sigh 

When  the  drums  go  by! 
[79] 


THE   BETTER   SELF 

Out   'neath   the   starry   heavens,   my   Other   Self 
and  I, 

We  sit  by  the  stream 

And  we  muse  and  dream 
While  Yesterday's  things  go  by — 
The  pleas  and  woes  and  the  cries  of  fear 
We  should  have  heard  but  we  did  not  hear — 
The  calls  for  help  that  we  did  not  heed 
In  all  our  hurry  and  rush  and  greed, 
Before  us  now  they  go  drifting  by — 
My  Other  Self  turns  a  chiding  eye! 


"These  are  the  things  you   failed   in,"   says  my 
Other  Self  to  me: 

"The  cries  of  need 
That  you  did  not  heed, 
The  suffering  you  would  not  see, 
The  woe  and  tears  and  the  calls  for  aid. 
The  weak  appeals  of  the  ones  afraid, 
fSol 


The  cries  of  pain  and  distress  unheard, 
You  might  have  helped  with  a  friendly  word, 
Yet  did  not  help!"     And  I  bow  and  sigh 
As  Yesterday's  poor  mistakes  go  by. 

Out  'neath  the  starry  heavens,  alone  on  the  silent 
earth, 

With  no  one  nigh, 

Myself  and  I 
May  study  each  other's  worth. 
And  each  may  know,  as  we  drift  along, 
How  one  is  weak  and  the  other  strong! 
Ah,  oft  I've  wished  that  it  might  have  been 
That  he  might  live  in  the  world  of  men 
Instead  of  me,  and  I  often  sigh 
And  wish  that  my  Other  Self  were  II 


[8i] 


PAN  AT  LARGE 

They   taught    mc    that    Pan    was    the    shyest    of 
creatures, 
Who  lived  in  the  shadows  with  wood-nymphs  and 
elves, 
And   tuned    up   his    pipes   when   the   fairy   clans 
gathered 
To  sing  and  make  merry  and  dance  by  themselves; 
They    said    that    his    songs    were    the    rarest    of 
classics, 
And  boys  must  be  cautious  for,  when  he  would 
play, 
A  step  in  the  brush  or  a  twig  sharply  broken 
Would  cause  him  to  stop  and  would  drive  him 
aw^ay. 

Perhaps  it  was  true  when  they  told  me  the  story, 

For  then   there  were  fairies  and   Youth  wore  a 

c  rown. 

But  now  I  am  certain  that  Pan  has  turned  rover, 

And,  truant-like,  answers  the  call  of  the  town; 

182  1 


I  saw  him  but  yesterday,  happy  and  ragged, 
And  smiling  as  bright  as  the  sunshine  at  noon — 

He   flashed  'cross  my   path — was  gone! — and   he 
whistled 
His  way  to  my  heart  with  a  popular  tune. 

His  face  was  of  Youth,  his  laugh  was  of  silver. 

He  whistled  the  street  full  of  music  and  glee — 
His  jacket  and  trousers  were  ragged  and  tattered, 

As  ever  a  truant's  would  naturally  be. 
Ah,  some  will  declare,  'tis  the  veriest  fancy 

That  Pan  has  forsaken  the  woodlands  so  soon. 
But  Pan,  I  declare,  is  abroad  in  the  city 

And  coaxing  its  smiles  with  a  popular  tune! 


83] 


AN  OLD  MAN  ON  CIRCUS  DAY 

I'm  a  sort  of  a  queer  old  man, 
Built  on  sort  of  a  common  plan 
Time  adopts  when  it  starts  to  mold 
Folks  into  shapes  that  it  labels  "Old." 
Got  the  tisick,  an'  full  of  pains 
That's  peculiar  to  Summer  rains. 
Weather  shifts  and  the  frosts  and  snows- 
Jist  depends  how  the  weather  goes; 
Sort  o'  wanderin'  'roundabout. 
One  foot  in  an'  the  tother  out- 
Tired  of  life,  yet  a-hangin'  on. 
Tooth  and  nail,  with  a  soft  "  Doggo7ie!'* 


Don't  suppose  you  can  picture  me 
Ornamentin'  frivolity! 
Yet,  whenever  the  circus  comes 
Bangin'  along  with  its  mellow  drums, 
Painted  clowns  and  its  floats  of  red 
Trailin'  after  the  band  ahead. 


Seems  to  me  that  I  step  more  spry, 
Chest  throwed  out  an'  my  head  more  high! 
Somethin'  in  it  that's  playin'  tricks 
On  my  tisick  an'  roomatics, 
Like  enough,  an'  I  seem  to  be 
Cured  up  to  a  t — y — tee! 

*"Most  too  old,"  as  my  daughter  sez; 
Mebbe  plasters  some  poultices 
'Cross  my  innards  an'  gives  me  tea, 
'Count  of  the  circus  afFectin'  me; 
She'd  discourage  a  pore  old  man's 
Pleasure  a-makin'  his  circus  plans 
If  she  could;    but  there  lingers  yet 
Circus  dreams  that  I  can't  forget — 
Painted  clowns  an'  the  riders  bold, 
Coaxin'  me  through  the  dreams  of  old, 
'Til  if  all  of  my  plans  work  fair, 
Look  around  an'  you'll  find  me  there! 


85 


A  BOY'S  SUMMER 

A  boy's  Summer!     Can't  you  see 
Them  hallowed  spots  of  memory? — 
The  old  mill-race,  with  sun  ashine 
Betwixt  its  banks  of  velvet  fine? — 
The  hilltops  green,  and  over  yon 
The  woods  that  beckon — coax — y'  on 
To  be  a  young  'un,  free  and  wild 
As  any  wanderin'  story  child? 

A  boy's  Summer,  gold  and  blest, 
A  fish-pole  where  it's  handiest, 
A  dam  across  the  medder  streams, 
A  top,  a  spool,  contraption  schemes — 
A  pathway  to  the  "hi-hole's"  perch — 
A  whistle  made  of  silver  birch 
For  Pan  to  pipe  the  roundelays 
That  sing  of  boyhood's  Summer  days! 

A  boy's  Summer!     See  that  sign — 
Or  ain't  your  eyes  as  good  as  mine? — 
[86] 


WHERE    BOYS    CAN    SWIM    IN    BIRTHDAY    CLOTHES! 


Two  fingers  up,  that  overtop 

The  penny  rile  an'  jimson  crop. 

An'  tempt  some  young  'un  'til  he  must 

Go  traipsin'  off  through  dimpled  dust 

Of  paths  that  only  young  'uns  knows, 

Where  boys  can  swim  in  birthday  clothes! 

A  boy's  Summerl     God  above, 
I  know  what  You're  thinkin'  of! 
For  us  that's  old  an'  growin'  white, 
An'  failin'  in  our  sense  an'  sight, 
You  fashion  golden  days  like  these 
So's't  we  can  set  beneath  the  trees 
An',  lookin'  yonder  through  the  haze, 
Kin  dream  of  boyhood's  Summer  days. 


87 


WHEN  THE   BABY'S  GONE   AWAY 

When  he's  playin'  'round  me  here  he's  jist  so  dad- 
burned  small 
I  scarcely  ever  notice  him  or  see  the  tyke  at  all ! — 
When  Retty  scrubs  an'  dresses  him  an'  sends  him 

off  to  play, 
He  gathers  up  his  playin'  tools  an'  takes  hisself 

away 
Behind  the  house  or  down  the  road,  an'  there  he 

stays  for  hours. 
An',  'count  of  size,  it's  purty  hard  to  tell  him  from 

the  flowers. 
The  way  he  hides  amongst  'em  an'  goes  traipsin' 

through  the  bloom — 
In  all  the  world  he  seems  to  take  a  mighty  little 

room! 

He's  only  two,  a-turnm'  three — no  bigger  than  a 

pint! — 
He  couldn't  tiptoe,  seems  to  me,  above  the  second 

j'int 

[88] 


Of  that   'ere   fence!     An'   when   he  goes   through 

swing-gate,  over  there, 
The  roses  on  that  droopin'  bush  jist  barely  brush 

his  hair; 
He's  jist  a  little  speck  o'  pink,  a  sort  of  rovin'  kind 
That  hides  amongst  the  flowers  an'  he's  'most  too 

small  to  find; 
Amongst  the  heap  of  other  things  that  bother  men 

like  me 
I  guess  I'd  got  the  habit  overlookin'  him,  y'  see. 

But  now  he's  gone  a-visitin',I  tell  y' what  it's  still! — 
The  robins  chirp  more  softly  an'  the  dad-burned 

whip-per-will 
Is  mournfuler  than  common,   an'  along  the  edge 

o'  night 
There's  somethin'  seems  to  bubble  up  an'  clog  my 

wizzen  tight! — 
The  sunset  sort  o'  dodges  me  an'  gives  away  to 

gloom — 
It  seems  to  me  there's  nothin'  else  in  all  the  world 

but  room! 
An'  judgin'  from  the  void  he's  left  around  this 

lonesome  place, 
That  little  bit  o'  feller  fills  an  awful  lot  o'  space. 
[89] 


IN  THE  FEUDIST'S  HOME 

SnufF  yon  candle!    Whilse  we's  fightln' 

We-all  got  t'  keep  from  sight! — 
Jes*  cayn't  be  no  candle-lightln' 

In  this  cabin  after  night! 
Lindy,  sizz  a  scrap  o'  bacon — 

Mind  yo  thah's  no  smokln',  hun. 
From  the  embers:    we-all's  takin' 

Chances  'twell  this  feudin's  done! 

Spell  ago  I  heerd  a  smashin' 

Mighty  like  a  pusson's  boot, 
Down  in  yender  hick'ry  slashin' — 

Felt  a-mighty  like  I'd  shoot! 
Saved  my  lead  an'  climbed  the  risin', 

Looked  a  mile  off,  mighty  nigh, 
Saw  the  varmints  lookin'  pizen — 

Put  that  rifle  handy  by! 

Childurn,  gether  'round,  an'  mind  y' 

What  yo'  pappy's  gwinc  t'  say, 

[90] 


So's't  the  feudin'  folks  cayn't  find  y' 
Heah  that  cowhell  dongin'  'way 

Vender  on  the  Little  Bitter? 
Wonder  what  it's  all  erbout? 

Reck  in  that's  a  tzvo-leg    critter 
Try  in    t'  toll  y 


[91I 


THE  ORCHARD  SEAT 

Here  we  used  to  sit  day  in  and  out, 

Sun  high  an'  low,  an'  sort  o'  speckylate 
On  what  we'd  do  when  he  got  well  an'  stout — 

Me  heartbroke,  'most,  an'  him  content  to  wait 
Long,  suiferin'  days  an'  endless  restless  nights! 

Whilst  mother's  faith  an'  mine  was  growin'  dim, 
Not  all  the  stars  in  heaven  glowed  as  bright's 

The  hope  within  the  wee,  small  heart  of  him! 


Here  we  set  an'  made  our  promises; 

When  he  got  zvell!     Why,  I  remember  yit 
How  he  smiled  an'  how  them  e3'es  o'  his 

Jist  fairly  brimmed  at  txtvy  thought  of  it! 
'Greed  we'd  fish,  we  did,  an'  made  a  vow 

An'   took   our   oath    on   the   blossoms   Summer 
fetched, 
Some  time  we  would  go  an'  show  'em  how 
To    ketch    *'OId    Sly"    that    never    had    been 
ketched. 

[92] 


Here  we  set,  an'  sometimes  more  in  glee 

Than  tears,  perhaps,  when  he  would  square  off 
— so — 
Roll  up  his  sleeves  an'  show  his  muscle.      ''Me? 

You  don't  know  me?     I'm  in  the  circus  show!" 
Then  in  tears;    when  evenin'  light  growed  dim 

He'd  snuggle  down;   with  childish  faith  he'd  tell 
The  pityin'  stars  that  twinkled  down  at  him: 

"Tell  Mister  God  to  make  me  strong  an'  well." 

Here  we  set!     Now  Springtime's  come  ag'in, 

With  love  an'  bloom  an'  same  blue  skies  above, 
Drowsy  days  with  golden  sunshine  in. 

An'  everything  that  us  two  used  to  love — 
Everything  is  jist  the  same  excep' 

I  miss  his  face  an'  miss  his  trustin'  hand, 
Mourn  his  love,  his  promises  unkep', 

An'  sometimes  think  God  did  not   understand. 


[93 


THE  HORSE-TRADER'S   PRAYER 

0  Thou  who  guards  the  sparrow's  wings, 
Of  course,  I  don't  perpose 

To  take  no  hand  in  runnin'  things 
Whichever  way  it  goes — 

1  take  whatever  Fortune  brings 
An'  thankful,  Lordy  knows! 

I  know  Thou  fashion  an'  devise 
All  things  both  great  an'  small. 

An'  cast  the  motes  from  others'  eyes. 
An'  mark  the  sparrow's  fall; 

I  know  that  Thou  are  great  an'  wise. 
The  wisest  of  'em  all. 

I  know  that  when  the  thunders  crash. 

Thou  rulest  up  on  High — 
I  know  that  when  the  lightnin's  flash 

Thou  knowest  when  an'  why, 
An'  when  the  cyclones  swish  an'  lash 

That  Thou  are  standin'  nigh. 
[94] 


I  know  Thou  are  forgivin',  too, 

Of  errors  first  an'  last; 
An'  now  I  meekly  ast  that  You 

Fergive  my  errin'  past; 
An',  since  I'm  startin'  fresh  an'  new. 

There's  somethin'  else  I'd  ast. 

To-morrow  mornin'  when  I  try 
To  trade  with  Hiram  Nissen, 

You  only  do  Your  part  an'  I 
Will  do  my  part  a-whizzin' — 

Jist  cast  the  mote  from  out  my  eye 
An'  leave  the  mote  in  hisn! 


95 


THE   DREAMER 

Humor  the  dreamer  his  many  moods, 
His  far,  lone  quests  in  the  silent  woods, 
Dreams,  perchance,  where  the  blossoms  are 
Or  his  silent  love  for  an  early  star. 

Humor  the  dreamer  who  steals  away 
To  some  far  spot  where  his  fancies  play, 
Roaming  back  in  the  evening's  gloam 
Through  dewy  fields  by  the  long  road  home. 

Humor  the  dreamer  who  stops  awhile 
Where  Summer-time  and  her  blossoms  smile 
Friendly-like,  and  he  stays  alone 
While  life  and  the  workaday  world  roll  on. 

Bear  with  him  if  he  seems  to  see 
The  little  things  by  the  way  that  we 
See,  perhaps,  but  we  never  guess 
Their  humble  part  in  our  happiness. 
[96] 


Bear  with  him  and  his  dreams!     Ere  long 
He'll  share  his  dream  in  a  poet's  song — 
Happy  song  of  the  days  grown  dim — 
And  he  shall  smile  and  you'll  smile  with  him. 


[97] 


AN  OLD  MAN'S   HOPE 

She  was  so  patient  and  sweet  and  glad 
In  the  old,  old  days  when  the  world  was  sad — 
So  hopeful-like  with  a  word  of  cheer 
That  eased  the  path  of  our  journey  here; 
A  word  of  faith  and  a  word  of  trust 
That  God  and  all  of  His  ways  were  just, 
And  strengthened  me  when  she  used  to  say 
That  everything  would  be  well — some  day. 

She  was  so  trustin',  an'  seemed  to  me 

To  see  so  much  that  I  couldn't  see — 

An'  most  men  can't,  or  they  wont,  because 

They  don't  perceive  like  a  woman  does — 

The  endless  blessin's  our  troubles  hid 

Would  strengthen  her  faith  an'  her  trust  instid 

Of  shakin'  'em,  'til  she  used  to  say 

She  knowed  it  would  all  be  well — some  day. 

She  was  so  gentle  an'  kind  an'  good — 
Perhaps  I  never  have  understood 
[98] 


How  good  she  was,  'til  she'd  passed  and  gone 
And  left  me  alone,  and  to  wander  on 
Without  her  cheer  or  her  hand  to  guide — 
Without  the  faith  that  she  used  to  bide — 
A  helpless  soul  in  the  world  of  care 
Yit  trustin'  still  that  she's  waitin'  There. 


[99 


CHUMS 

If  I  should  die  to-night  there  still  would  be 
One  favor  left — one  pleasure  left  to  me, 
And  that  to  come  from  out  my  narrow  cell 
In  spirit  form  and  see  and  wish  you  well — 
To  stand  beside  and  hear  you  jest  and  quip, 
And  feel  again  your  wholesome  fellowship — 
To   see    your   smiles    and    know   your   heart's   re- 
joice, 
And  hear  your  songs  and  raise  my  silent  voice. 

If  you  should  die  to-night  what  would  there  be 
Of  fellowship  and  happiness  for  me? — 
Except,  perhaps,  to  sit  alone  and  stare 
Across  the  board  and  see  your  vacant  chair. 
And,  in  the  smoke,  to  see  your  kindly  face, 
Or    hear    your    cheer    resounding     through    the 

space 
Of  Memory,  and,  while  my  fancies  stir. 
To  dream  alone  of  happy  times  that  were! 

[  lOo] 


If  some  must  go  and  some  must  stay  behind — 
If  Fate  must  cleave  the  friendly  ties  that  bind — 
How  better  far  that  Death  should  beckon  on, 
Than   Life   should   last   with   love   and   friendship 


gone 


[loi] 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  IN  THE  WHEEL-CHAIR 

The  little  old  man  in  the  old  wheel-chair 
Who  sat  all  day  in  the  sunshine  there, 

With  nothing  to  do 

The  whole  day  through 
But  hark  to  the  sounds  from  the  noisy  street, 
And  measure  the  cadence  of  passing  feet, 
Or  dream,  perchance,  of  the  happy  day 
When  he  was  as  strong  and  as  straight  as  they. 


The  little  old  man  with  the  shriveled  limh, 
The  palsied  hand  and  the  eyes  grown  dim, 

And  back  bent  twain 

With  his  years  of  pain, 
Who  sat  and  pondered  and  wondered  why 
He  differed  so  from  the  passers-by, 
'Til  wonder  ceased  and  he  answered  then 
That  *'God  knows  best"  and  was  glad  again. 
The  little  old  man  in  the  old  wheel-chair, 
Who  sat  all  day  in  the  sunshine  there, 
I  102] 


And  idled  away 

The  livelong  day, 
With  nothing  to  do  'til  his  deathrobe  furled 
But  hark  to  the  noises  of  a  querulous  world — 
Grumble,  complaint,  and  the  discontent 
Of  health-blessed  people  who  came  and  went. 

The  words  of  anger  and  greed  beside, 
The  wail  of  others  dissatisfied — 

The  idler's  curse, 

And  even  worse! 
And  once  he  smiled  when  a  strong  man  said 
That  Fate  stalked  Am  with  relentless  tread! 

And  often,  since,  have  I  wondered  what 
The  little  old  man  in  the  wheel-chair  thought! 


103 


A   PEDDLER  OF  CHEER 

He  hummed  a  snatch  of  an  army  song 
He  used  to  know,  and  it  passed  along 
To  the  never-do-well  in  the  village  square, 
Who  pursed  his  lips  on  the  catchin'  air 
And  whistled  it  far  to  the  tinshop  door — 
A  man  who  never  had  sung  before! 
He  raised  his  mallet  an'  paused  again, 
An'  called  the  words  of  the  old  refrain 
He  used  to  know,  an'  he  sung — an    sung! — 
'Til  all  of  his  pots  an'  his  kettles  rung 
In  harmony,  an'  the  smith  said,  "Whew! 
Now  what  on  earth  are  we  comin'  to 
When  he  cuts  loose!"  an'  he  blowed  his  fire 
An',  raisin'  the  pitch  up  high  an'  higher, 
He  sung  with  all  of  his  lusty  might, 
Though  neither  the  words  nor  the  tune  was  right! 
The  merchant  passed  an'  he  caught  the  tune 
And  took  it  home  for  his  wife  to  croon 
Whilst  cookin'  over  the  stove — as  hot 
As   Tophet! — an'  cheered  her,  as  like  as  not! 
[  104] 


It  drifted  out  of  the  door,  it  did, 

An'  fell  on  the  ears  of  an  invahd 

That  longed  for  it,  an'  I  believe  it  done 

More  good  than  Pillboxes'  medicun! 

The  bus-driver  harked  to  the  liltin',  sweet 

Refrain  an'  peddled  it  down  the  street, 

'Til  every  one  whistled  it,  old  an'  young. 

An'  them  as  couldn't  to  whistle  it  sung! 

It  seemed  that  the  leaves  in  the  maples  stirred, 

An'  even  the  storekeeper's  kitten  purred! 

In  yender  field  where  the  furrows  turned 

Their  humped  backs  up  to  the  sun  that  burned, 

The  feller  who'd  started  the  army  tune 

Set  down  to  eat  in  the  heat  of  noon; 

He  thought  of  his  work  an'  his  heapin'  woes, 

An'  faulted  Providence,  I  suppose — 

Like  most  men  do! — 'til  he  heard  that  song 

A  naybor  sung  as  he  passed  along; 

"But  look,"  he  said,  with  a  happy  grin, 

"What  a  world  of  song  we  are  livin'  in!" 


105] 


A  COUNTRY  SHOWER 

A  cloud  in  the  West  no  bigger  'n  your  hand, 

A  stir  in  the  murky  air 
That  only  the  maples  can  understand, 

Yit  all  of  the  world  kin  share. 

A  ripple  of  breeze  through  the  standin'  grain, 

Then  quiet  an'  wave  ag'in, 
A  warnin'  from  There  of  the  comin'  rain 

An'  biddin'  the  field-hands  in. 

The  cluckin'  of  ginnies  an'  clackin'  of  hens 

All  squawkin'  with  real  consarn. 
An'  leggin'  it  off  for  their  coops  and  pens. 

Or  shelter  under  the  barn. 

A  patter  of  rain  in  the  maple-trees, 

A-splatterin'  down  the  road, 
A  touch  on  the  head  from  as  coolin'  a  breeze 

As  ever  a  mortal  knowed. 
[io6] 


An'  then  a  flood  from  the  heavens  hurled 
That  drizzles  tolerable  smart, 

An'  washes  the  face  of  a  dusty  world 
An'  the  hate  from  a  feller's  heart. 


107] 


AT  THE  VILLAGE  STORE 

There  ain't  nothin'  East  or  West, 
North  or  South  that  I  detest — 
'Bominate! — Hke  tryin'  to  rag 
Other  folkes'  claims  an'  brag! 

Some  folks  brag  of  this  an'  that, 
The  State  where  chances  horned  'em  at. 
Town  or  city — county-seat — 
Braggin'  that  it  can't  be  beat! 

Lots  of  folks,  as  like  as  not, 

Brag  the  children  that  they've  got — 

Generally  pull  in  their  line 

When  I  start  to  tell  of  mine! 

Other  people  stoop  so  low 
That  they'll  talk  an'  stew  an'  blow 
Half  the  night,  a-braggin'  up 
Some  old  lop-yeared,  mangy  pup! 
f  108I 


When  I  hear  such  braggin'  I 

Jist  set  quiet-like,  'til  my 

Chance  to  have  my  say  comes  'round, 

An'  tell  'em  'bout  my  rabbit-hound! 

Scent?     I  tell  you  what,  it's  keen! 
Fact  is,  no  one  ever  seen 
No  dog  with  a  scent  that  is 
Keen — nor  half  as  keen — as  his! 

He's  run  all  the  rabbits  out 
Through  the  county  hereabout 
'Til  they've  mostly  learned  to  swim 
Jist  to  dodge  the  scent  of  him. 

When  I  git  'em  good  an'  downed 
"There's  a  hound  as  is  a  hound," 
I-say-I,  an'  generally 
They've  got  sense  enough  to  'gree. 

Generally  folks  strike  a  snag 
When  they  jist  set  out  to  brag! 

Thus  the  oracle  declaimed, 
Nor  by  all  the  smiles  was  shamed. 
[109] 


THE   BLIND  VETERAN 

(Lincoln's  Birthday) 

I  thank  you,  friend,  for  helping  me 
Across  the  street — 'twas  very  kind; 
'Tis  hard  for  one  whose  eyes  are  blind 

To  make  his  way  alone,  you  see. 

Yes,  blind  for  long — since  sixty-two; 
When  last  these  eyes  shut  out  the  day, 
They  closed  upon  a  line  of  gray 

Arrayed  against  a  line  of  blue. 

And  yet  I'm  sure  'twas  for  the  best — 
I'm  loyal  to  my  leader's  word; 
God  spoke  to  him  and  Lincoln  heard, 

And  He  directed  all  the  rest. 

But,  tell  me,  friend,  since  on  you  stay 
And  pity  my  dark  loneliness. 
What  manner  of  a  day  is  this 

To-day — our  Lincoln's  natal  day.? 
[no] 


The  skies  above  are  blue,  I  trust? — 
And  tell  me,  does  it  seem  to  be 
A  world  of  love  and  sympathy 

For  all  mankind? — 'twould  be  but  just! 

Above  us  does  the  banner  wave? 

The  flag  that  stanched  the  crimson  flood, 
That  men  anointed  with  their  blood 

And  Lincoln  gave  his  life  to  save? 

And  those  who  pass  us  on  the  way? 
Do  they,  in  all  their  hurry,  share 
Our  sentiments,  and  seem  to  care 

That  this  is  Lincoln's  natal  day? 

I  thank  you,  friend — I'm  in  your  debt — 
You've  eased  a  blind  man's  troubled  mind!- 
It's  been  so  very  good  to  find 

The  nation's  sons  do  not  forget! 

You're  young,  I  think?     I  fancied  so! 

Why  yours  is  like  a  woman's  hand! 

I  fear  you  cannot  understand 
What  Lincoln  was — you  cannot  know! 


[II] 


A  STAVIN'  OLD  FRIEND 

Bill  Asher,  you  have  always  been  a  stavin'  friend 

t'  me, 
Your  heart  was  true  through  dark  an'  gloom  as 

in  prosperity; 
An'  now  we're  goin'  down  the  hill,  as  mortals  all 

must  do, 
I  want  t'  make  y*  understand  I've  'predated  you. 

When    ma    an'    me    an'    fambly    come    a-packin' 

through  from  Pike, 
A-searchin'  of  God's  footstool  for  a  place  that  we 

could  strike 
An'  eddicate  our  childurn,  as  all  parents  orter  do, 
Who  was  the  first  t'  take  our  hand?     Bill  Asher, 

it  was  you. 

An'  when  the  sullen  clouds  of  war  come  growlin', 

rollin'  on. 
An'    cast   a   shadder   over   us    by   takin'   off  our 

John, 

[112] 


■Evw  .  ■■  -<=■•  P.. 


he'd  apologize,  an'  say,  'i  can't  on'y  play  by  ear'" 


Who  was  it  took  our  hand  an'  said  that  it  was  all 

for  good? 
An'  you  had  two  boys  at  the  front — I  knowed  you 

understood! 

An'  when  they  brung  our  Johnny  back,  a  note 

pinned  on  that  said 
They'd  found  him  in  the  rifle-pits  so  peaceful-like 

— an'  dead — 
I  recollect  your  comfortin',  an'  how  you  made  us  see 
That  Johnny's  death  was  glorious  as  mortal  man's 

can  be! 

An'  when  our  little  girl  was  borned,  Bill  Asher,  it 
was  you 

Who  brightened  up  her  pore,  short  life  as  no  one 
else  could  do — 

I  see  y'  now,  your  arms  all  full  of  sweet  forget- 
me-not 

That  made  our  little  baby  smile  an' — Bill,  I  'ain't 
forgot! 

An'  then  that  Springtime  mornin'  when  she  wa'n't 

no  more  our  care. 
The  birds  was  chirpin'  "Mairy,"  an'  there  wa'n't 

no  Mairy  there! 

[113] 


Through  tears  I  couldn't  help  but  shed  I  saw  your 

kindly  smile. 
As  you  explained  that  God  had  only  lent  her  for 

a  while. 

An',  now  we're  goin'  down  the  hill,  as  mortals  all 

must  do, 
I   want  to  make  y'   understand  we've  *preciated 

you; 
We've  naybored  here  an'  alius  has  our  comfort 

been  your  care — 
You've  spoke   for  us  on   earth,  old   friend;  we'll 

speak  for  you  Up  There. 


114] 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  A  FACE  IN  A  SIDEWALK 
CROWD 

'Twas  furrowed  and  seamed  with  the  cares  of  life 

and  white  as  with  Autumn  rime. 
And    yet  withal    it  was  as  young  as  Youth  and 

fresh  as  the  Summer-time; 
Its  wrinkles  gathered  in  sunny  smiles  at  wiles  of 

the  painted  clown. 
And  laughed  and  laughed  as  the  children  laugh 

who  gather  in  Circus  Town. 

It  cast  the  mask  of  the  years  aside  as  if  they  had 

never  been. 
And   something  spoke  of  a  merry  heart  and   of 

Youth  come  back  again — 
A    boy's    delight    in    the    glittering    show    as    the 

cavalcade  passed  on. 
And  looked  as  sad  as  the  children  did  when  the 

calliope  was  gone! 


[IIS] 


AN  EXPOSE  AVERTED 

Once  my  father,  he  says:    "What 

Possess  boys  nowadays 
Is  more  than  I  kin  figger,  but 

They're  changed  in  heaps  of  ways 
From  what  they  was!    It  seems  t'  me 

They're  wilder,  higher  strung. 
And  wiser  than  they  used  t'  be 

In  the  days  when  I  was  young! 

*'You  don't  s'pose,  do  you,"  says  pa, 

"That  us  boys  ever  thought 
Of  stayin'  out  until  our  ma 

Was  purty  nigh  upsot. 
Like  you  boys  do?     Well,  no,  sir-e-e-e- 

We'd  got  our  jackets  wrung 
If  we'd   'a'  tried  sich  deviltry 

In  the  days  when  I  was  young! 

"We  wa'n't  gallivantin'  'round 
To  find  a  'hi-hole's'  nest, 
[ii6]    ■ 


Nor  wallerin'  around  the  ground 

An'  spoil  our  Sunday  best 
To  git  a  pewee's  egg,  or  brood — 

We'd  had  our  plans  unstrung 
An'  like  enough  got  walloped  good, 

In  the  days  when  I  was  young! 

"No,  nor  us  boys  never  stole 

Behind  our  father's  barn 
To  smoke  whipstock — nor  swimmin'-hole 

To  practise  sayin'  'Darn!' 
Sich  things  was  reperhensible, 

An'  like  enough  they'd  brung 
Disgrace  on  us — like  sich  things  will — 

In  the  days  when  I  was  young!" 

Yes,  an'  once  Doc  Hansel  come 

To  stay  all  night  with  pa, 
An'  he's  my  father's  boyhood  chum 

That  lived  next  door;  an',  law! 
My  father  frowned!     Then,  I  expect. 

Doc  Hansel  lost  his  tongue, 
'Cause  all  he  said  was:    "Recollect 

When  me  an'  you  was  young — ?" 

[117] 


FANCY,  THE  TRUANT 

The   grassy   slopes   of  Briar   Hill   where   sweeter 

mem'ries  linger  still. 
Where  Fancy,  like  a  truant  boy,  roams  aimlessly, 
and  ever  will. 
Through  blossomed  paths  we  can't  forget — 
Through  fields  and  meadows  dewj^-wet — 
To  pause  in  boyish  wonderment  where  squirrels 
chat  and  redbirds  trill. 


The  narrow,  winding  country  road,  the  creaking 

of  the  passing  load. 
The  teamster's  gruff  and  hearty  hail;  how  happily 
we  climbed  and  rode 
On  top  the  bags!    In  mem'ry  still 
We  go  with  grist  to  Martin's  mill. 
Where  greater  wonders  seemed  to  be  than  fairy- 
tales and  fables  showed. 
[ii8] 


So  ponderous  and  so  unreal!     The  rumble  of  the 

giant  wheel. 
Where   angry  water  overshot,   then,   pacified,   it 
used  to  steal 
In  snow-white  floss  across  the  "jam" — 
Across  the  "apern"  of  the  dam — 
Then  dance  away  'cross  the  rifts  as  though  it  quite 
had  planned  the  reel. 

The  miller,  prone  to  stride  about,  would  purposely 

desert  the  spout 
So  grimy  boys  could  plunge  their  hands  in  golden 
com-meal  coming  out; 
And,  oh,  the  sense  of  deep  regret 
That  grown-up  boys  remember  yet. 
When  all  was  done,  the  grist  was  ground,  and  time 
had  come  to  put  about! 

Along  the  quiet  road  again  a  towhead  boy  might 

take  the  rein, 
A  height  of  power  man  may  crave,  but  never  hope 
to  quite  attain! 
And  yet — and  yet — it  seems  to  me 
The  happiest  moment  seemed  to  be 
When  old   familiar  landmarks   spoke   of  mother, 
home,  and  rest  again. 
[119] 


Whatever  Life  is  holding  still  for  our  reward — or 

ever  will — 
Position,  wealth,  or  boundless  fame — it  scarce  com- 
pares the  happy  thrill 
That  comes  from  letting  Fancy  play 
A  truant  on  a  Summer's  day. 
And  go  to  mill  with  some  one's  grist  and  back 
again  to  Briar  Hill! 


[120] 


THE  APOLOGIST 

Wish  you'd  knowed  ol'  Tollerses — 
Heerd  him  draw  that  bow  o'  his 
"'Cros't  his  fiddle-strings,  I  swan, 
When  his  "fiddlin'  streak"  was  on! 
Expert?    W-e-1-1,  I  reckin  so! 
Fact  is  Tollers  didn't  know 
Jist  how  expert-Hke  he  was. 
Alius  Speared  t'  me,  because 
When  we'd  ask  to  hear  him  play 
He'd  apologize,  an'  say, 
Droppin'  in  the  nighest  cheer, 
"I  can't  on'y  play  by  ear." 


Coaxed  more  smiles  on  them  'ere  strings. 
More  ol'  steps  an'  pigeon  wings, 
"Monnie  Musks"  an'  "One,  Two,  Threes," 
Than  a  dozen  or-chest-rys ! 
"Wasn't  time  fer" — sayin'  was — 
"Feelin'  sick  er  blue,  because 

[121] 


Too  diirn  blzzy,"  used  t'  say, 
"Hearin'  ol'  man  Tollers  play!" 
Wa'n't  no  blue  spells  ever  hung 
When  he  got  his  fiddle  strung! 
Wa'n't  a  soul  would  know,  t'  hear. 
That  he  only  played  by  ear. 

Kep'  a-sawin'  that  'ere  bow, 
Cheerin'  folks,  till  a  spell  ago — 
Seen  him  last  propped  up  in  bed, 
Fever'd  sort  o'  touched  his  head; 
Fiddle-box  was  there,  but,  law! 
Tollers  plumb  forgot  t'  saw; 
Jist  was  list'nin'  far  away, 
Hearin'  angels'  music  play; 
Tuk  my  hand  an'  tried  t'  smile. 
Says:    "I'll  jine  'em  after  'while 
If  they'll  let  me  .  .  . 

S'pose  they'll  keer 
'Cause  I  only  play  by  ear?" 


[  122 


HOME 

A  little  bit  o'  romping  and  a  little  bit  o'  song,  J 

A  little  bit  o'  laughter  through  the  hall,  j 

A  little  bit  o'  trouble  and  little  something  wrong,  | 

A  little  mother-kiss  to  soothe  it  all. .  J 

A  little  flash  of  ribbon  and  a  glint  of  gingham  gown, 

A  little  smile  from  roguish  eyes  of  blue,  ! 

A  little  bit  o'  cheerfulness,  a  little  bit  o'  frown, 

A  little  flash  of  tears  for  smiling  through.  j 

A  little  curtained  window  and  a  happy  little  face,  j 

A  storm  of  happy  greetings  at  the  door, 
A  little  throne  of  wicker  by  a  little  chimney-place,  j 

Nor  all  the  kings  of  ages  boasted  more.  i 

i 

A  little  place  of  longing  where  a  father's  midday  j 

dreams  ' 

Will  lead  him  from  the  sordid,  busy  way —  \ 

So  little — unpretentious!     Such  a  rich  reward  it  j 

seems 

For  the  little  bit  of  toiling  in  the  day!  j 

[123] 


AN  AUTUMN  OCCUPATION 

Oh,  I   like  to  fall  to  musin'  an  a-peerin'  through 

the  haze 
At  Summer's  floss  an'  velvet  and  the  golden,  sun- 
washed  days 
That  we've  sort  o'  left  behind  us;    an'  again  in 

fancy  tread 
The   windin'    paths   we've    turned    from    an'    the 

pasture  lanes  that  led 
Where  the  yellow  birds  was  nestin',  an'  with  real 

artistic  fuss. 
Was  singin'  praise — the  envy  of  the  songless  folks 

like  us! 
Yes,  I  know  it's  out  o'  season  an'  such  simple 

rhymes  as  these 
That  try  to  breathe  the  blossom  an'  the  greenery 

in  the  trees, 
Are  apt  to  git   pneumony  such  a  chilly  Autumn 

day, 
But  when  it  gits  October  don't  you  like  to  dream 

of  May? 

[124] 


If   a    feller    only   'II    try    he    can    make    himself 

believe 
That  Autumn's  no  occasion  fer  a  man  to  mope  an' 

grieve! 
He  can  tell  himself — an'  believe  it! — it's  a  trick 

that  Fancy  plays, 
An'  Summer  days  are  hidin'  just  beyond  a  little 

ways — 
Just  across  the  meadows,  mebbe — where  they're 

waitin'  fer  the  call 
Of  robins  to  surprise  us  with  their  blossom  gowns 

an'  all! — 
An'  weave  the  blooms  of  Summer  in  the  meshes 

of  his  song; 
That  to-morrow  he  can  wander  through  the   lanes 

an'  pathways  long, 
If  a  feller  can  believe  it,  can  you  blame  a  feller — 

say? — 
If,  when  it  gits  October,  he  will  set  an'  dream  of 

May? 

There  is  somethin'  in  the  spirit  of  the  Autumn 

dark  an'  cold 
That  reminds  me  of  a  feller  who  is  gittin'  gray  an' 

old; 

[125] 


Does  he  talk  of  his  infirmities  an'  troubles  ?    No, 

sir-e-e-e. 
You'll  find  him  'spatiatin'  on  the  way  he  used  to 

be! 
He  will  disregard  roowa^ics  an'  he'll  prob'ly  dare 

you  to 
The  things  a  able-bodied  man,  like  you  are,  couldn't 

do! 
An'  he'll  brag  about  his  muscle  an'  his  limberness 

an'  might 
Before  he  got  so  crippled  an'  his  whiskers  got  so 

white! 
Which  ondignified  deportment  proves  the  thing  I 

meant  to  say — 
I  reckon  that  October  alius  will  remember  May! 


126] 


LITTLE  CHILD-O'-LOVE 

A  laugh  rings  back  through  the  years  long  gone, 

Clear  and  sweet  as  the  wood  stream  flows — 
It    comes    from    the    fields    and    the    hedgerows 
yon. 

Or  from  the  spot  where  the  red  maple  glows; 
It  sings  the  days  where  our  memories  rove — 

Days  ere  the  dream  of  our  joy  was  done. 
When    the    world    was   smiles    and    the   Child-o'- 
love 

Chased  the  beams  of  the  kindly  sun. 


It  rings  sometimes  through  the  silent  hall. 

Coming  back  from  the  Past  and  Gone 
Like  echoes  sweet — as  she  used  to  call 

Us  to  play  when  the  day  was     done; 
It  comes  sometimes  from  the  garden  fair. 

Where  all  of  the  colors  of  Autumn  mock 
The  sunset;    or  in  the  hedgerow  there, 

Lo!    there's  a  glint  of  a  gingham  frock. 
[127] 


They're  visions  all!    And  the  day  that  seems 

Blessed  with  the  Child-o'-My-Love  of  old — 
That  seems  the  day  of  my  cherished  dreams — 

Grows  like  the  others,  all  drear  and  cold! 
There  is  no  warmth  of  the  sun  without, 

None  of  its  beams  come  a-streaming  through, 
For  the  day  that  the  Child-o'-My-Love  went  out 

Lo!    the  light  of  the  sun  went,  too! 


[128 


"SASSAFRAS"      . 

Etty's  husband,  Cass,  lets  on 

He's  new-fangled-like,  an'  says — 
Shamelessly! — "Old  times  is  gone 

'Long  with  old-time  things  an'  ways' 
Jis'  lets  on,  you  know,  because 

He  knows  nothin'  else  will  rile 
Me  like  talkin'  that  way  does! — 

Nothin'  makes  my  nature  spile 
Like  belittlin'  ol'  things,  jis' 
Sweet  to  me  as  blossoms  is! 


Like  last  Sunday,  we  all  set 

On  the  stoop,  with  Et  an'  Cass, 
Somethin'  'ruther — I  forget — 

Switched  our  talk  to  sassafras — 
Plain  ol'  sassafras,  that  I 

Fairly  nursed  on,  boy  an'  man — 
Harb  that  I  can  testify 

Cures  like  no  other  can! 
[129] 


Cass,  though,  he  jis'  sneers  an'  says, 
"That's  old-fashioned  nowadays." 

Of  all  things  I'm  loyal  to 
First  of  all  is  sassafras. 

So  that  riled  me  through  an'  through- 
Waved  my  hands,  lit  in  to  Cass! 

"What's  it  good  for?"      I  says," Hey?* 
"Janders,  ain't  it?    Yes,  an'  that 

Run-down  feelin',  ain't  it?"     "Say?" 
Howsumever,  Cass  jist  sat 

There  an'  says:    "Then  I'm  su'prised 

Sassafras  ain't  recognized." 

"Recognized?"  1  says:    "Blame-don 

Doctors,  fat  an'  over-sized, 
Know  which  side  their  butter's  on — 

That's  why  it  ain't  recognized! 
Ain't  that  proof?"  I  says — says  I, 

Cornerin'  Cass.     But  law-my-law! 
He  jis'  sat  there,  squinty-eye, 

Quiet-like  an'  chaw  an'  chaw — 

"What  you  chawin'?"  I  says;    Cass 
Laffed  an'  hollered: 

"  Sassafras!" 
[130] 


A  NEIGHBORHOOD  PICTURE 

Jist  the  way  you  look,  Ben  Tarr — 

Don't  fix  yerself  a  bit; 
You're  the  best  the  way  you  are 

An'  you  can't  better  it! 
Hat-brim  floppin'  left  an'  right, 

That  shades  your  eyes  o'  blue- 
Telltale  eyes  that  jist  one  sight 

Reveals  the  heart  of  you. 

Leave  your  shirt-front  open,  too — 

There's  no  one  here  that  keers— 
Show  the  bronzed,  broad  chest  of  you 

That's  breasted  sixty  years — 
Sixty  years  of  toil,  Ben  Tarr, 

Whatever  else  that  come — 
Breasted  al)  the  surge  of  war 

An'  sorrows  here  at  home. 

Don't  you  try  to  hide  your  hands! 
They're  gnarled,  I  know,  an'  old, 
[131] 


Yet  they're  gnarled   from  tillin'  lands, 
An'  Life's  tasks  manifold — 

Giant's  hands  at  work,  Ben  Tarr, 
Yet  gentle  in  distress; 

Tears  to  me  they're  fairer  far 
In  all  their  ugliness. 

Lean  against  that  palin'  fence, 

'Cause  there's  where  you  belong; 
Keerless?     Yes!     In  consequence 

Expect  a  keerless  song; 
Be  yourself  and  plumb  fergit 

You're  "on  parade"  an'  then 
Jist  ease  off  an'  smile  a  bit 

An'  wait  the  poet's  pen. 


[32 


ONE  MAN'S  THEOLOGY 

I  wouldn't  disparage  a  single  word 

The  preachers  tell  of  the  blessed  day, 
But  nothin'  yet  that  I've  ever  heard 

Has  changed  my  belief  in  the  smallest  way; 
Whenever  I  look  in  the  face  of  things, 
The  buds  that  blooms  an'  the  birds  that  sings 
"In  spite  of  the  preachers,"  I  say,  "I  vow 
A  pore  man's  heaven  is  here  an'  now!" 

"The  Beautiful  City  of  Paradise," 

That  preachers  picture  don't  fit  at  all 
With  plans  ordained  by  the  Lord  All-wise, 

Who  marketh  even  the  sparrow's  fall; 
He  knows  our  life  an'  He  knows  our  love, 
An'  knows  the  spots  that  we  think  most  of, 
An'  certain  He  wouldn't  take  me  an'  you 
To  a  place  that  we  couldn't  get  usen  to! 

I  'low  it's  folks  from  the  city  He 
Has  promised  the  City  of  Paradise — 
[133] 


For  folks  that's  used  to  the  jamboree 

An'  noise  an'  jangle  an'  monstrous  size — 
For  them  He  has  builded  the  Golden  Town, 
With  music  playin'  'til  the  sun  goes  down, 
An'  harps  an'  fiddles  an'  noise — good  land! 
That's  more  than  a  feller  like  me  can  stand! 

But  as  fer  me — well,  I  like  to  think 

Of  wakin'  up  in  the  Blessed  Dawn, 
An'  seein'  the  sun  git  up  to  drink, 

An'  fields  an'  medders  a-stretchin'  on. 
An'  woods  with  their  summery  green  unfurled — 
A  common,  every-day,  country  world! — 
A-washin'  its  face  in  the  mornin'  dew, 
An'  smilin'  up  in  the  face  of  you. 

Some  cattle  clankin'  round  the  gate, 

An'  old  "snake-fence"  where  the  chipmunks 
hide. 

An'  old  well-sweep  with  a  groanin'  weight 
That  we  remembered  before  we  died; 

An'  stick  in  a  yeller-jack's  nest,  perhaps. 

For  edification  of  curious  chaps — 

Some  Nature  to  love  an'  some  room  to  roam, 

Or  fellers  like  me  won't  feel  at  home! 
[134] 


THE  STREET  MUSICIAN 

His  form  was  bent  and  was  wretched  clad 
In  garments  tattered  and  worn  and  thin, 

But  close  to  his  face,  in  a  fond  embrace, 
Was  his  battered  violin. 

His  fingers,  stiff  with  the  toil  of  years. 
Caressed  the  strings  in  a  soft  tattoo 

Till  it  soared  aloft,  or  as  low  and  soft 
As  the  drip  of  a  drop  of  dew. 

The  love  of  life  and  its  song  and  cheer 
And  rollicking  joy — the  faster  he 

Plied  the  player's  wand,  were  gathered  'round 
By  his  mystic  mastery. 

A  melody  mad  as  a  witch's  song, 

Then  low  and  soft  as  the  twilight  dies. 

It  seemed  to  croon  of  an  afternoon 
'Neath  fair  Italia's  skies. 
[135I 


And  gone  was  the  gray  from  the  dreary  day, 
And  gone  from  the  street  was  the  mist  and  chill, 

As  charmed  away  by  the  spell  of  play 
And  the  gathering  winds  stood  still. 

Ah,  envy  the  player  in  tatters  and  rags 

Who  coaxed  good  cheer  to  the  crowded  way 

With  a  song  that  sings  of  the  brighter  things 
And  the  cheer  of  a  Summer  day. 


[36 


MATCH-MAKIN' 

Hiram's  oldest  girl,  Tryphene,    ' 
Wasn't  dispositioned  mean 
'Specially,  exceptin'  she 
Hated  men  folks  generally! 
Badger  her  'bout  any  man, 
Law!    she'd  drop  her  dish  or  pan 
Where  she  was  and  say — says  she: 
"Mercy  to  me,  no,  sir-e-e-e. 
I  don't  want  no  man  around, 
Trackin'  up  my  floors!    A  hound 
'S  bad  enough,  but  hounds  '11  stand 
Whippin's  or  a  repermand!" 
Wasn't  dispositioned  mean 
'Specially,  an'  yet  Tryphene 
Went  on  record  time  'n'  ag'in 
As  against  all  marryin'. 


Eben,  Hiram's  hired  man. 
Sort  o'  shared  Trypheny's  plan, 
[137] 


'Cept  as  circumstance  revokes — 
His  complaint  was  zvimin  folks; 
Heerd  him  rant  'em  time  'n'  ag'in, 
Call  'em  names  like  "Tremble-chin," 
*' Chicken-heart,"  an'  such  as  them, 
Chimin'  that  a  woman's  hem 
Wa'n't  the  place  allotted  man 
In  the  Lord  Almighty's  plan. 
"Half  the  fun  in  life,"  says  he, 
"For  a  man,  is  bein'  free — 
Free  to  go  an'  free  to  come. 
Spite  of  some  one  else's  thumb 
Biddin'  'em,  like  wimin  does" — 
Dead  against  'em,  Eben  was! 

Bein'  two  so  much  alike, 
Naturally  the  lightnin'  'd  strike 
Somewhere  close  around  the  pair — 
Which  it  did! — an'  Lawsey  they're 
Married,  an'  I  rise  to  state 
Happy  in  each  other's  hate! 
Lovin'est  of  marriages — 
Seems  such  matches  alius  is! 


38] 


THE  LONE  ORCHARD  SEAT 

Old  Hans  Kloph  of  Webbses  Springs, 
Soft  and  sweetly  Mem'ry  sings 
These  May  days,  old  friend,  of  you — 
Where  you've  gone  and  wandered  to. 
Where  your  pipe  smoke  is  that  spent 
Lazily,  and  spelled  "Content" 
In  the  blossomed  boughs  that  shed 
Petaled  storms  from  overhead — 
Storms  of  blossoms,  red  an'  white, 
Yet,  as  I  recall  to-night. 
With  less  of  color  an'  of  grace 
Than  your  ruddy,  smilin'  face. 


Every  mem'ry  lingers  yet! 
There's  the  throne  seat  where  you  set 
Summer  days  for  blessed  hours, 
Reignin'  'mongst  the  garden  flowers; 
Born  to  purple  an'  to  rule 
Little  folks  that  stopped  from  school 
[139] 


Truantwise,  an'  gethered  there 
'Round  the  Kingdom  of  Your  Chair; 
Listenin'  whilst  your  fancy  spent 
Fairy-tales — their  wonderment 
An'  the  smiles  they  used  to  bring. 
Tribute  to  so  good  a  kmg. 

There  the  fields  an'  meadows  are. 
There  your  fancies  roamed  afar 
When  the  evenin'  spell  was  on, 
An'  your  little  subjects  gone; 
Roamed  across  the  fields  an'  woods, 
Beyond  the  seas  to  nayborhoods 
That  you  left  to  settle  here 
And  became  a  pioneer. 
Nor  did  those  two  tears  we'd  see 
Even  smirch  your  loyalty! — 
Love  of  country  never  speaks 
Truer  than  your  tear-stained  cheeks! 

Maytime's  every  mood  an'  trend 
Speak  to  me  of  you,  old  friend! 
Not  a  petal  seems  to  fall 
But  the  passin'  breezes  call 
[140] 


"Uncle  Hans?"  then  seem  to  fade 
Sadder  than  the  sighs  they  made! 
Mute  I  stand  beside  your  chair, 
Dreamin'  'crost  the  meadows  there 
Where  you  dreamt  days  past  an'  gone, 
Trustin'  that  you're  over  yon, 
Wanderin'  with  the  spirit  band 
Through  your  loved  Fatherland! 


141]  \ 


A  CREED 

Whatever  is  at  hand!     Ah!  this 

Is  Creed  enough  for  you  and  me; 
To  do  whatever  work  there  is, 

However  small  the  task  may  be, 
Is  better  than  for  one  to  dream 

Of  greater  tasks  than  others  do, 
That  bring  rewards,  perchance,  that  seem 

Far  richer  than  the  tithes  to  you; 
Thrice  blessed  is  he  who  takes  his  place, 

Though  poor  and  humble  in  the  land, 
And  with  a  cheerful,  smiling  face 

Performs  whatever  is  at  hand. 


Some  blessed  day  the  gates  will  ope — 
The  Builders  of  the  World  will  move 

With  souls  of  faith  and  hearts  of  hope. 
Upon  the  Temple  made  of  Love; 

The  Master  Builder  then  will  take 
A  strict  account  of  all,  to  see 
[142I 


Some  one  of  all  the  host  to  make 
The  Keeper  of  the  Golden  Key; 

He  may  choose  fortune's  son,  and  yet 
More  apt  a  man  who  sought  His  side 

Without  a  claim,  except  he  met 
Whatever  was  at  hand — and  tried! 


[43  J 


THE   DEBT  YOU  OWE 

Your  creditor— a  child — stands  there, 
A  normal  child  with  tossing  hair — 
With  grimy  hands  and  smudgy  thumbs, 
And  childish  charm  save  what  the  slums 
Have  robbed  him  of  and  left  him  wan 
And  thin,  with  half  his  boyhood  gone. 

Your  creditor?     Why,  yes,  by  right 
Of  all  the  wealth  and  health  and  might 
God  gave  to  you,  for  in  your  care 
He  placed  the  little  urchin  there, 
And  bade  you  hark  to  his  distress 
And  help  him  in  his  helplessness. 

You  owe  him  fields  and  pleasant  ways, 
The  endless  joys  of  boyhood  days, 
The  streams,  the  paths,  and  skies  more  fair 
Than  he  has  dreamed,  the  country  air 
The  summer  days  with  trees  unfurled — 
The  good,  good  green  of  God's  great  world. 
[144] 


You  owe  him  all  that  ever  can 
Help  fashion  him  a  manly  man; 
No  common  debt  of  such  that  is 
Offset,  perchance,  by  promises, 
But  one  that  stands  forever — go, 
Go  pay  the  child  the  debt  you  owe! 


[145] 


THE  VILLAGE  WAGON-SHOP 

In  Uncle  David's  wagon  shop 
The  dusty  webs,  in  festoons,  drop 

Across  this  bench,  then,  stealing  off 
To  rafters  overhead,  they  stop. 
Like  slender  threads  of  mem'ry  play 
Through  endless  space  of  years,  and  sway 

First  here  and  yon,  then  fasten  on 
His  workshop  on  a  summer's  day. 

Soft-lighted  by  the  morning's  rays, 
Through  little  panes,  where  thickly  lays 

The  silver  dust  of  many  years. 
Like  ashes  of  forgotten  days; 
The  floor,  deep-laid  with  many  a  curl 
Of  oak  or  maple  that  unfurl 

Beneath  the  magic  of  his  plane — 
The  prize  of  favored  boy  and  girl. 

A  torpid  silence,  nigh  intense, 
Save  when,  to  break  the  strange  suspense, 
[146] 


The  redbirds  pipe,  "Ripe,  cherry  ripe!' 
From  yonder  on  the  garden  fence. 
And  cock  their  heads  at  Uncle  Dave, 
Who  answers  with  the  gentle  lave 

And  purr  of  jack-plane  in  his  hand 
Or  "swish"  of  Uncle's  old  "spoke-shave. 

Ere  morning  sun  its  height  has  found, 
A  hale  "Hello!" — the  welcome  sound 

Of  some  old  comrade  come  to  rest 
And  dream  the  happy  hours  around. 
And,  oh,  the  tales  that  they  repeat, 
The  camp,  the  march,  advance,  retreat 

Of  other  years,  that  hold  the  ears 
Of  wonder  children  at  their  feet! 

The  summer  winds  pause  there  to  stare 
Or  catch  the  lilt  of  laughter  there, 

Then  blow  away  and  bear  the  tales 
To  wonder  children  everywhere, 
Until,  where'er  their  fancies  drop, 
It  seems  a  man  needs  only  stop 

To  sense  the  blest  companionship 
Of  Uncle  David's  wagon-shop! 
[147] 


To-night  it  all  comes  back  to  me, 
Soft-touched  with  blessed  memory — 

A  dream  that  can  grow  real  again 
No  more  than  Golden  Youth  can  be; 
Though  years  of  work  and  strife  thej^'ve  met, 

But  somewhere  in  the  world,  I  think, 
The  summer  winds  are  smiling  yet. 


[I' 


WHEN  JOE  ALLEN  COMES  TO  VISFF 

When  Joe  Allen  comes  to  visit, 
Seems  that  then  our  children  jest 

Make  a  heap  more  noise  than  common — 
Tear  around  like  all  possessed! 

Seem  to  know  he's  jest  a  "Boardin' 

Bachelor" — an'  act  accordin'! 

Joe's  my  old-time  friend  of  boyhood; 

Never  married  no  one,  'cause 
Says  there  "ain't  no  woman  wants  him," 

Like  old  "bachs"  alius  does! 
Naturally  our  children  fret  him — 
Seem  to  sort  o'  plum'  upset  him. 

We  don't  git  no  more  than  started 
Talkin'  'fore  them  kids  begin! 

First  it's  "Pa"  this,  that,  an'  t'other — • 
"Lemme  out,"  or  "Lemme  in!" 

'Til  I  ups  an'  hollers,  "Daisy, 

Stop  these  kids  or  Joe'll  go  crazy!" 
[  149] 


Sometimes  have  to  quit  my  smokin', 
Git  right  down  an'  be  a  hoss — 

Ride  some  dadburned  little  young  un 
Straddle  clear  to  Banb'ry  Cross! 

Law!  ol'  Joe  can't  scarcely  ever 

Git  a  word  in  edgeways — never! 

Down  to  our  house  Joe's  uneasy — 
Seems  to  fret  his  peace  of  mind 

Havin'  children  all  around  him! 
Him  an'  me  can't  never  find 

Much  to  occupy  us,  nuther, 

'Cept  feel  sorry  for  each  other! 


ISO 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  FOREST 

Far  out  in  the  woods  where  the  feet  of  Spring 

Trip  Hghtly  over  the  velvet  sod — 
Where  trees  and  blossoms  and  everything 

Exhale  a  purity  'kin  to  God, 
There  stands  a  curious  kind  of  church, 
With  colonnades  of  the  elm  and  birch, 
And  aisles  of  greenery  lead  away 
Soft-carpeted  with  the  bloom  of  May. 

No  bells  to  chime  and  no  lofty  spire 
As  men  erect  in  their  foolish  pride, 
But  only  the  trees  that  reach  high  and  higher 

And  arch  the  temple  God  sanctified; 
Or  turn  their  leaves  to  the  skies  of  blue. 
To  let  the  smile  of  the  sun  come  through 
And  mix  its  gold  with  the  dainty  trace 
Of  violets  at  the  altar-place. 

No  choristers  save  the  yellow-throat, 

The  finch,  and  thrush  in  the  silent  trees. 


That  wait  the  sound  of  the  leader's  note 

And  pour  their  hearts  in  their  melodies; 
Then  cease  their  song,  and  the  woods  grow  still, 
The  daisy,  phlox,  and  the  jonquil 
Bow  down  their  heads  with  the  finch  and  thrush 
And  God  speaks  out  from  the  woodland  hush. 

Who  worships  there?     Ah,  the  troubled  man 

Whom  dogmas,  creeds,  and  the  like  betray — 
Who  knows  of  God  and  His  Mercy  plan 

From  those  who  teach  of  it  all  for  pay, 
Yet  doubts  and  fears  till  his  weary  search 
Directs  him  there  to  the  w^oodland  church, 
And  there  at  last  is  the  Truth  he  sought 
In  the  great  outdoors  that  God's  power  wrought. 


[152] 


AN  OLD  MAN  MUSING 

As  for  myself,  why,  I  really  feel 

As  young  as  ever — as  if  the  seal 

Of  Youth  were  fixed  on  my  furrowed  brow 

By  Time  itself,  with  a  whispered  vow 

That  "Youth  shall  gladden  this  heart  of  thine 

As  long  as  the  suns  of  the  summer  shine." 

The  old  illusions  that  seemed  so  real 

Seem  just  as  real  and  entrancing  now. 

The  same  bright  smile  and  the  sweet  content — 

The  woodland  bloom  and  the  meadow  scent, 

Are  just  the  same  in  the  Afterglow 

As  the  scent  and  bloom  in  the  Long  Ago. 


'Tis  only  they  that  believed  me  old 

Who  measure  one's  age  by  the  years,  and  hold 

That  silvering  hair  and  the  dimming  eye 

Are  signs  of  the  most  of  a  life  gone  by; 

And  none  of  them  know  how  I  keep  my  prime 

By  special  pact  with  the  rascal  Time! 


They  wipe  my  specs  and  the  children  fold 
My  old  cape  coat  and  they  steady  my 
Uncertain  way  to  my  easy-chair 
To  smoke  and  chat  with  my  fancies  there. 
While  back  in  the  shadows  they  whisper  low 
Of  Age's  pities  I  never  know! 

When  summer  calls  from  the  sunny  porch 
I  strain  my  eyes  for  the  flaming  torch 
The  sumachs  wave  from  the  roadside  yon, 
And  beckon  a  young  old  fellow^  on 
To  rosied  ways  of  his  youth  again, 
As  sweet  and  budding  to-day  as  then — 
To  rest,  perhaps,  in  my  aimless  march 
And  dream  of  days  and  friendships  gone — 
To  spring  to  youth  at  the  clover's  touch. 
Of  robin's  greeting,  and  marvel  much 
How  well  w^e're  holding  our  age,  we  three — 
The  smiling  world  and  the  skies — and  me! 


[154I 


AT  THE  HORSE   SALE 

Head  up!  Head  up!     Y-e-a,  boy!  Whoa! 
There's  a  hoss  jist  built  for  show, 
Mister — What's-your-name?     Oh  yes, 
Sold  you  once  before,  I  guess. 
Didn't  I?     An'  treated  you 
Fair  an'  square  an'  honest,  too. 
Didn't  I?     Well,  then  you  know 
What  I  say  is  so  is  so! 
Look  at  that  there  head  an'  that 
Tail  an'  mane — aristocrat! — 
'S  what  he  is!     Won't  associate 
With  no  common,  low-bred  mate! 
Look  at  how  that  ankle's  turned! — 
Woman  s  ankle! — yes,  an'  learned 
All  the  gaits  a  jockey  rides, 
An'  he's  reinwise,  too,  besides — 
That  shows  class!     Well,  is  he  smooth? 
Smoother  than  a  hound-dawg's  tooth — 
Not  a  pimple,  no  sir-e-e-e — 
Ear's  a  man  with  sight  can  see! 
[iSSl 


Speedful,  too!      He'd  do  about 
Thirty  if  you'd  work  him  out; 
Figure?     Well,  two  fifty's  what 
I've  been  askin'  for  him,  but 
'Count  of  that  there  caster  and 
Splint — that's  harmless,  understand — 
Harmless — and  because  it's  you — 
What's-your-name? — I'm  sellin'  to, 
I  suppose  I'd  take  two  ten — 

Lead  him  out,  boy! 

Sold  again! 


['156] 


YOUTH  AND  AGE 

"It  seems  so  long  a  time,"  Youth  sighs, 
"For  years  to  come  and  years  to  go! — 
The  years  drag  on  so  halt  and  slow!" 

And  Youth,  in  its  impatience,  cries 

For  haste  to  where  the  sunshine  lies 
On  peaks  that  only  Age  can  know — 
Where  promises,  like  fool's  gold  glow 

And  lure  them  with  a  worthless  prize. 

Life's  sweetest  joys  Youth  will  not  see, 

The  paths  that  lead  through  pleasant  fields, 

The  right  of  Youth  to  wander  free, 
And  all  the  joy  that  Freedom  yields; 

But  Youth  knows  best  what  Life  should  be. 

And  bides  Time's  flight  impatiently. 

"It  seems  so  short  a  time,"  Age  cries 
And  wrings  its  hands  and  bows  its  head; 
It's  gained  the  peaks  the  pathways  led 
Where  Faith  has  whispered  Fortune  lies — 
But  where  the  goal  and  where  the  prize? 
[157] 


The  golden  glint  of  hope  has  fled! — 

The  fool's  gold  now,  all  turned  to  red, 
And  Age  knows  now  Life  falsifies. 
"So  short  a  time!"     It  goes  so  fleet 

That  scarcely  do  we  have  To-day 
'Ere  evening  stars  and  sunset  meet; 

The  day  of  Youth  has  passed  away, 
And  blooms,  that  Yesterday  were  sweet. 
Lie  faded  now  at  weary  feet. 


158 


THE  RETURN  OF  SUNSHINE 

For  days  the  wind's  been  a-hoverin'  north 

In  a  sort  of  a  changeable  way,  you  know, 
And  howlin',  niebbe,  for  all  it  is  worth, 

Or  droppin'  down  to  a  stiddy  blow; 
The  world's  been  more  than  unusual  gray 
And  sorrowful  like,  for  many  a  day, 
And  everybody  that  hadn't  some 
Work  a-callin'  'em  stayed  t'  hum, 

'Til  to-day  when  the  sun  come  out 

And  life  and  all  of  its  joy  come  in. 
And  the  China  drake  went  strattin'  about 

And  waddled  off  with  its  mate  ag'in; 
And  cattle  and  sheep  they  rubbed  their  nose, 
As  animile  lovers  does,  I  'spose. 
And  the  hired  man  and  Elizabeth   Prime 
Are  makin'  up  for  the  dozunth  time. 


f59 


THE  UNCERTAINTY  OF  SPRING 

"But  Spring,  ain't  here,"  I  alius  say,  says  I, 

"'Till  sorrel's  up,  an'  so  is  ribbon  grass. 
An'  bumblebees  git  playin'  'hi-an'-spy' 

Amongst  the  blooms  or  in  the  garden  sass; 
'Til  hangbird  comes  an'  then  as  quick  is  gone — 

All-fired  mad! — to'rds  county  seat  an'  jest 
As  if  she'd  gone  for  a  dispossessment  on 

The  butcher-bird  that  stole  her  last  year's  nest. 


I've  alius  held  that  Spring  ain't  really  here 

'Til  old  man  Hines,  who  alius  went  to  sea 
For  fifty  years,  forsakes  his  easy-chair 

An'  tromps  his  porch  so  'tarnal  restlessly. 
An'  snaps  his  jaws  an'  hunts  until  he's  found 

Brass-button  coat  an'  his  old  sailor  hat — 
An'  almost  cries  for  a  chance  to  sail  around 

The  world   again,  'cause  some  folks  think  it's 
flat. 

[160I 


I  can't  give  in  that  Spring  is  here  until 

The  young  folks  mate  an'  pair  off  down  the  lane, 
An'  set  an'  court  like  young  folks  alius  will, 

An'  stay  there,  too,  in  spite  of  bugs  an'  rain! — 
They  talk  and  dream,  with  each  a  happy  heart, 

An'  plan  their  home,  yit  alius  they  forgit 
Or  overlook  the  most  important  part: 

The  mortgage  lease  all  plastered  over  it. 

I  won't  give  in  that  Spring  is  here  because, 

Well,  mebbe,  'cause  I'm  jealous  of  it  all. 
For  Spring  with  me  ain't  what  it  used  to  was 

A  spell  ago,  when  I  was  what  you'd  call 
A  Lochinvar,  skylarkin'  hereabout, 

An'  shinin'  up  to  purty  gals — y'  see, 
I'm  gettin'  gray  an'  old  as  all  git  out. 

An'  every  Spring  means  one  less  Spring  to  me! 


[i6i] 


HOME   FROM   SCHOOL 

See  the  Township  Road  ag'in 
Full  o'  snow  an'  driftin'  in, 
Leavin'  jist  a  track  or  two 
For  the  boys  to  waller  through — 
Healthy  boys  with  cheeks  as  red 
As  the  sun's  glow  overhead — 
Smartest  boy  an'  biggest  fool 
Trudgin'  home  ag'in  from  school. 

Smartest  boy  an'  fool!    The  two 

Pair  off  like,  an'  waller  through 

Snow  that's  drifted  since  they  went, 

Deep  as  they're  enjoyment! 

Never  seem  to  mind  the  cold 

Nor  the  hardships  manifold — 

Hearts  are  lighter,  as  a  rule, 

When  they're  trudgin'  home  from  school. 

Dumbdest  boy  is  shy  on  books, 
But  he  knows  the  woodland  nooks — 
[162  J 


Knows  about  the  birds  an'  bees, 

How  to  tell  the  different  trees, 

Where  the  swimmin'-hole  is  at — 

Other  infermation  that 

Boys  should  know  of  through  and  through — 

Tells  his  chum  about  'em,  too. 

Smartest  boy  is  differ'nt — well, 

He  knows  how  to  write  an'  spell. 

Multiply,  divide,  subtract. 

Fractions,  too — an'  be  exact; 

Yet  how  poor  his  knowledge  seems 

When  his  fool  companion  dreams 

Of  the  woods  or  swimmin'-pool 

Whilst  they're  trudgin'  home  from  school. 

So  in  Life  they'll  wander  through 
Arm  in  arm  an'  two  by  two, 
Like  they  used  t'  come  from  school — 
Smartest  man  an'  dumbdest  fool; 
Happy  as  two  men  kin  be 
In  each  other's  company — 
Each  a-learning',  'fore  he's  done, 
Sumthin'  from  the  other  one! 

[163I 


A  GOOD-NATURED  LOAFER 

'Long  about  this  time  o'  year 

May's  a-ringin'  'round  the  rosy, 
Blushin'  plum'  from  ear  t'  ear 

An'  purty  as  a  garden  posy, 
'Pears  t'  me  a  feller  then 

Had  surely  orter  be  forgiven 
Shirkin'  work  an'  worries  when 

There's  better  ways  an'  means  o'  livin'! 
Gimme  hook  an'  line  an'  bait 

An'  dawg  or  two  t'  tag  behind  me — 
Want  t'  see  me  then,  just  zvait — 

Or  ma  kin  tell  y'  where  t'  find  me! 

Ma  makes  out  she's  plum  give  up 

Reformin'  me,  an'  doubtful  whether 
r-m  the  worst,  or  lop-yeared  pup, 

An'  'lowin'  that  we  go  together! 
Hides  my  coat  as  like  as  not. 

But  then  what  is  coat — or  lack — or 
Ennything  as  long's  I  got 

A  hook  an'  line  an'  plug  terbacker? 
[164] 


Earthly  things!  now,  what  are  they 

When  a  feller  hears  th'  willers  swishin' 

Hears  'em  calHng  far  away 

An'  bid  him  "fishin'— fishin'— fishin'." 


Up  an'  down  ol'  scraggly  banks — 

The  banks  that  I  know  every  rod  of. 
Twist  an'  turns  an'  all  their  pranks, 

An'  love  the  very  grasses  an'  sod  of;  ■ 
Know  where  chubs  is  speshul  thick 

An'  where  they're  scarcer,  too — doggone  it! 
Ain't  a  root  in  all  the  crick 

That  sometime  I  wa'n't  snagged  upon  it! 
Even  birds,  it  seems  t'  me, 

Take  no  account  of  me — but  dippin' 
Chirpin',  too,  contentedly, 

Like  me  an'  them  was  pardner-shippin  ! 


Watch  ol'  turkle  on  a  stun 

A-blinkin'  like  a  wise  ol'  seer — 

Sort  o'  says:    "Thy  will  be  done," 
Which  corresponds  with  my  ideer. 

Worter-snake  comes  out — p'tends 
[165I 


As  if  he's  tryin'  t'  wiggle  "Howdy!" 
Drat  him,  I  don't  make  no  friends 

With  his  espeshul  style  o'  rowdy! 
All  I  want  's  my  fleabit  pup 

An'  turkle  there — an'  it's  amazin' 
How  it  bolsters  us  three  up 

A-doin'  nothin'  only  lazin. 

Know  when  noon  comes  on  because 

My  stomach  tells  me  when — or  orter— 
True  as  slantin'  shadders  does 

That  kitter  'cross  the  lazy  worter; 
Sort  o'  dream,  an'  doze  a  bit, 

An'  listen  to  the  willers  swishin' — 
Wonder  if  she's  angry  yit 

Because  I  up  an'  went  a-fishin'? 
Sudden-like,  across  the  knoll. 

The  sound  of  dinner-horn  reminds  me — 
I'll  fergive  her,  bless  her  soul! — 

I  told  y'  she'd  know  where  t'  find  me! 


[i66] 


"a-doin'  nothin'  only  lazin" 


LINES  FROM  A  BACHELOR'S  DEN 

No  man  hath  ever  entered  here 

Who  would  not  cast  all  woe  aside — 
Who  could  not  bring  a  tithe  of  cheer 

Where  fellowship  and  joy  abide — 
Who  would  not  pass 
The  brimming  glass 
And  pledge  us,  with  his  upraised  hand. 

The  best  that  Fate  might  send  along, 
The  best  of  friends  and  fortune,  and 

Forget  the  rest  in  cheer  and  song. 

And  yet,  I  know,  a  guest  will  come 

Some  winter's  night  through  yonder  door- 
His  name.  Old  Age,  all  speechless,  dumb. 
His  straggling  locks  so  thin  and  hoar; 
But,  ancient  soul, 
He'll  fill  his  bowl 
And  pipe,  as  all  my  comrades  know; 

No  song  will  break  the  midnight  spell. 
But  we  shall  watch  the  backlog's  glow 
And  like  each  other  very  well. 
[167] 


AND  THIS   IS  THE  WAY  IT  WAS 

Used  to  be  our  hired  man, 
Hawley  was,  an'  a  capital  han', 
'Ceptin'  that  he  had  a  hint — 
Sort  of  a  impidimint — 
In  his  speech,  that  he'd  allow 
"Wa'n't  folks'  business  anyhow!" 
That  was  jist  his  story,  'cause 
Tongue-tied' s  what  he  really  was! 

Used  to  court  our  daughter  Nell, 
Hawley  did;    for  quite  a  spell 
Skylarked  'round  before  we  knew — 
Down  to  Literary,  too — 
"Sings"  an'  dances,  jamborees. 
Everywhere  our  Nell  would  please — 
Claimed  she  understood  about 
Every  word  that  he  spit  out. 

Ma  an'  me  showed  our  good  sense — 
Knowed  from  our  experience 
f  168I 


'Twa'n't  no  time  for  mixin'  in 
Nellie's  plans,  nor  go  ag'in 
Nellie's  hopes,  so  we  agrees 
When  she  up  an'  says  that  he's 
Good  as  any  on  the  Hill, 
Jist  as  long  as  he  kept  still! 

Climax  come  one  night  when  they 
Harnessed  up  an'  drove  away — 
Reg'lar  moonlight  courtin'  spell! 
Never  could  git  Nell  to  tell 
How  it  come!     I  'spose  they  was 
Talkin'  soft  like  lovers  does; 
What  he  really  said  was,  "Who?" 
What  she  thought  he  said  was,  "You!' 

That's  how  Hawley  owns — an'  clear — 
The  finest  farm  in  the  county  here; 
That's  how  come  it  that  I've  got 
Such  a  fine,  uncommon  lot — 
Crop,  I'd  say — of  gals  an'  boys 
Trompin'  'round  an'  makin'  noise; 
Thanks  to  Nellie — she's  their  mother- 
None  of  'em  is  tongue-tied  nuther! 

[169] 


WHISTLIN'   PHIN 

or  Phin  Tidman  strikes  me  right! 
Seems  to  give  him  real  delight 
Bein'  what  you  might  call  quaint — 
Bein'  what  most  people  ain't; 
Whistles  mornin',  night,  an'  noon, 
Same  old  doggone  see-saw  tune 
"Old  cow  died  on,"  seems  to  me, 
Happy  as  a  man  kin  be — 
Says  he  whistles  an'  he  sings 
"Jist  to  make  the  best  of  things." 

Time  Doc  Bird  drove  up  here  in 
His  old  sulky,  bringin'  Phin 
A  bran'-new  bow-leg  baby  boy, 
Phin  nigh  sprung  hisself  with  joy! 
Joy  was  twice  as  real  an'  true 
When  Doc  whispered,  "  Phin,  there's  two, 
Then,  "There's  three!"     Well,  when  that  come 
It  sort  o'  squashed  Phin's  whistlin  some, 
Yit  he  never  stopped  a  bit — 
Says,  "I'll  make  the  best  of  it!" 
[170] 


When  his  wife  forsook  his  side, 

Got  consumpted-Hke,  an'  died. 

No  one  knows  or  never  kin 

Jist  how  much  it  meant  to  Phin; 

He  wa'n't  no  hand  for  fuss  or  show — 

Never  peddled  grief,  you  know — 

Jist  went  out  an'  fed  the  steers, 

Watered  'em  with  honest  tears; 

Let  up  whist! in'  for  a  bit 

Whilst  he  *'made  the  best  of  it." 

An'  he  made  the  best  of  it — 

Raised  his  children  pack  an'  kit, 

'Tended  'em  an'  wiped  their  nose 

Well's  a  woman,  I  suppose; 

Bought  their  things,  an'  patched  'em,  too. 

Like  a  man  ain't  fit  to  do! 

Yit  his  whistle  an'  his  smile 

Kept  him  hullsome  all  the  while — 

Livin'  proof  his  record  brings 

Of  his  "Make  the  best  of  things." 


171] 


JUST  ABOUT  NOW 

It's   just   on   the     "hay-an'-grass     line,"    a    little 

betwixt  an'  between, 
A  mixin'   of  clouds   an'   of  sunshine,   a  mixin'   of 

somber  an'  green; 
A  time  when  the  call  of  the   robin  gets   sort  o' 

mixed  up  with  the  snarl 
Of  Winter,  that's    back'ards    in    leavin',   an',  oh, 

how  the  two  of  'em  quarrel! 
The  "happy-sad"  days  we  can  call  'em  an'  not 

overestimate  none, 
When  Winter  ain't  quit  by  a  jugful  an'   Spring- 
time has  scarcely  begun! 
The  maple  sap  drippin'  an'  drippin'  like  woman's 

tears  do  when  she  cries, 
Expresses   a   feller's   own   feelin's   far   better   than 

rhymes,  I  surmise. 

The   maple   that's   quietly   weepin',  an'  yender  a 

sorrowful  hush 
That  just  sort  o'  seems  to  go  with  it,  hangs  over 

the  meadow  an'  brush — 
[172] 


A  hush  that  would  give  me  the  blues  if  it  wa'n't 
that  I'm  sensin'  the  swish 

Of  willows  off  there  by  the  crick-bank — a  thirty- 
day  promise  to  fish! 

The  sun  will  come  out  for  a  minute  an'  kitter 
across,  an'  blamedon 

We  grab  for  the  sunbeams  like  children  an'  then 
'fore  we  know  it  they're  gone! 

Stole  right  'fore  our  eyes,  as  you  might  say,  by 
March  the  worst  thief  of  'em  all, 

Yit  leavin'  us  happy  as  children  an'  glad  that  we 
saw  *em  a'  tall! 

The  "hay-an'-grass  line"  's  what  I  call  it,  the 
border  'twixt  worry  an'  hope. 

When  Winter  an'  Spring  go  a-chasin'  like  heifers 
that's  busted  their  rope — 

When  shadders  hang  on  for  a  minute  'til  the  sun 
drives  'em  off  in  the  woods, 

A  time  that  reminds  us  of  wimin,  we  love  'em 
because  of  their  moods. 

Their  sunshine  an'  smiles  an'  hysterics,  an'  all- 
fired  light  on  their  feet. 

An'  visions  of  happiness,  beauty  an'  roses  onusually 
sweet ! — 

[173] 


A  time  that's  inspirin',  hopeful,  with  the  knack  of 

a-puttin'  the  starch 
In  a  feller's  backbone — Oh,  doggone  her,  y*  can't 

help   a-lovin'  her — March! 


[174] 


A  TASK  FOR  THE   RHYMESTER 

Songs  of  home!     It's  hard  to  rhyme 
Such  a  theme  in  measured  time, 
Since  its  sweetness  seems  to  be 
In  the  way  it  wanders  free — 
Careless-Hke — at  no  one's  will, 
Heedless  of  the  poet's  skill; 
No  sir-e-e-e,  don't  cut  an'  pare 
Rhymes  that's  lurkin'  everywhere 
'Round  the  old  home  place,  but  git 
Words  to  fit  the  lilt  of  it — 
Words,  though  minus  time  an'  feet, 
That  'II  rhyme  'em  drippin'  sweet! 


Where's  the  measured  rhyme  to  fit 
Home  an'  all  that's  part  of  it?— 
Saggin'  sills  an'  vines  that  spread 
Love  an'  blossoms  overhead — 
Lop-yeared  pup  beside  the  stoop — 
Ginny-hens  an'  chicken-coop — 
[175] 


Black  Minorcy's  struttin'  out 

Bossin*  things,  an'  cuss  about 

Hens  that  shirked  their  work  an'  staid 

In  the  kerren-bushes'  shade; 

Home  with  all  the  trimmin's  on, 

Autumn  hills  an'  fields  beyon'! 

Songs  of  home.     Who'll  write  'em  down? — 

Write  'em  for  the  folks  in  town, 

Folks  that's  mebbe  sort  o'  strayed 

Off  from  where  they'd  orter  stayed? 

Write  'em  careless,  write  'em  free. 

Not  as  poets  think  they  be. 

But  with  all  the  lilt  an'  rhyme 

They  possess  in  harvest-time; 

Keep  your  muses  "haw-ed"  an'    "gee-ed" 

So  the  folks  in  town  will  read 

In  between  the  lines  an'  say: 

"Wonder  why  I  come  away?" 


[176] 


A  LONGIlSr 

I'm  tired  of  the  hurry  an'  the  scurry  of  the  times, 

An'  hearin'  Hfe  a-singin'  in  her  artificial  rhymes; 

I'm  tuckered  out  a-lookin'  for  the  good,  old- 
fashioned  joys 

An'  never  findin'  nothin'  but  the  town's  all-fired 
noise! 

I'm  gettin'  kind  o'  restless  for  a  quiet  spot,  I  jocks! 

A  "gee-an'-haw"  condition  that  you  might  call 
paradox! 

I'd  swap  a  year  of  strivin'  jist  to  join  hands  with 
June 

In  our  ol'-fashioned  parlor  on  a  Sunday  afternoon. 

I'd  like  to  see  the  fambly  an'  the  fambly's  next  of  kin, 
An'    such    amongst  the   naybors    as   was    used    to 

"droppin'  in" — 
The  Mosier  folks,  Tryphoney  Plumb,  Serepty  Ann 

an'  May, 
That   wa'n't   no   more   our   Sunday   friends   than 

friends  of  every  day; 
fi77] 


1 

The  Saxhome  folks  an'  Mingers,  too,  an'  Miss 
Sophrenny  Pease, 

An'  coax  her  till  she'd  condescend  to  stroke  the 
organ  keys, 

An'  have  her  play  the  "Rye  Straw"  or  a  polky — 
not  so  good 

For  Sunday  music,  mebbe,  but  the  kind  I  under- 
stood. 

Or  patriotic  pieces  that  would   make  the   rafters 

ring 
Like   "Comin'j   Father  Abraham,"  an'  everybody        j 

sing 
Like  all  git  out,  then  switch   the  tune  an'   pitch 

from  what  they  was, 
An'  tremble  off  to  gospel  hymns  that's  fav-er-ites 

of  ma's; 
When    gloamin'    comes    a-creepin'    on    before    the 

lamps  are  lit — 
The  time  o'  night  when   nothin'   but   the   silence 

seems  to  fit — 
Then   settle   back   in    parlor  there   an'   watch   the 

shadders  fade, 
An'  shut  our  noise  in  favor  of  the  bullfrog's  sere- 
nade. 

I17S] 


That's  peacefulness  an'  quiet  of  a  certain  sort  o' 
brand 

That  folks  brung  up  in  cities  never  seem  to  under- 
stand ! 

It's  restful  an'  it's  godly  an'  it's  hullsome  through 
an'  through, 

It's  like  a  benediction  that's  a-hoverin'  over  you; 

It's  soothin'  to  the  feelin's  an'  it's  healin'  to  the 
heart, 

An'  cures  nervous  troubles  'less  they've  got  too 
big  a  start! 

It  tones  a  feller's  system  jist  to  join  hands  with 
June 

In  some  ol'-fashioned  parlor  on  a  Sunday  after- 
noon! 


I  179  J 


EVENIN' 

Evenin'  is  a  theme  '11  make 

Eyelids  water  some,  an'  take 

Hold  of  people's  heartstrings  so 

Soft,  an'  twang  'em  sweet  an'  low 

That  the  very  notes  of  'em 

Seem  to  chord  with  Kingdom  Come!- 

Seem  to  strike  where  memories 

An'  your  recollections  is — 

Signals  back  old  faces,  too, 

Near  an'  dear  an'  lost  to  you, 

Til  they  sort  o'  reconcile 

You  to  partin's  after  while. 

So  I  dream  when  early  night 

Spreads  her  gloam  of  silver  light 

Over  all,  an'  through  the  haze 

Pictures  old  forgotten  days — 

Yes,  old  friends  an'  faces,  too. 

An'  evenin's  there  at  home  with  you. 

Summer  evenin's  when  the  night 
Ambled  from  the  hills  of  light, 
f  i8oi 


Loath  to  spoil  so  fair  a  day — 
Sparin'  every  reddened  ray 
Of  the  evenin's  sun  until, 
To  the  dirge  of  whip-poor-will, 
Cricket  song,  an'  sighin'  breeze. 
It  had  vanished  in  the  trees. 
Imagination  pictures  plain 
Father  comin'  down  the  lane — 
Mother  waitin*,  like  she  says 
She  did  in  their  courtin'  days^ 
An'  the  dusk  an'  silvery  dew 
Fallin'  gently  on  the  two — 
Somethin'  in  it,  I  declare, 
Seemed  to  glorify  'em  there; 
Oh,  the  wealth  of  sweetness  in 
Summer  evenin's  home  ag'in! 

Winter  evenin's,  when  the  day 
Galloped  toward  the  hills  of  gray 
Like  the  Johnny  Rebels  went 
'Head  of  father's  regiment. 
Like  he  alius  told  about 
When  we  got  the  walnuts  out 
Winter  nights  an'  cracked  an'  et- 
Nights  that  I  remember  yet! 
[181I 


Where  on  earth  or  skies  above, 
Is  the  wealth  of  wholesome  love 
That  was  there,  with  each  one  jes' 
Sharin'  t'other's  happiness? — 
An'  cross  the  field,  the  lights 
Beamin'  nayborly  **good  nights," 
Musin'  on  it  seems  to  start 
Eyes  a-waterin'! 

How  my  heart 
Aches  for  them  that  never  knew 
Evenin's  there  at  home  with  voii! 


[182 


THE    POET   DREAMER 

"Those  were  the  days,"  they  say,  and  limn 

Their  songs  to  the  days  of  the  lost  sunshine — 

They  spread  their  filmiest  verse  upon 

The  dancing  dew  of  the  silver  dawn 

Of  the  old  days  of  the  Passed  and  Gone. 

"Those  were  the  days,"  they  write,  and  drop 

A  bitter  tear  on  the  line  and  stop 

Their  measured  rhyme  of  old  friends  forgot — - 

A  fancy  sweet  or  a  passing  thought 

Of  summer  romps  in  the  orchard  lot. 

"Those  were  the  days,"  they  say,  and  lo! 
Remembered  days  of  the  Long  Ago 
Shine  golden-like  through  the  mist  of  years — 
Forgotten  pleasures  pile  tiers  on  tiers, 
Diminishing  as  the  Present  nears. 

"Those  were  the  days,"  and  the  poet's  pen 
Trails  on  and  on  of  the  Days  of  Then, 
[183I 


As  tliough,  like  the  dew  of  the  olden  dawn 
And  the  webs  and  weaves  that  it  flashed  upon, 
The  best  of  living  were  passed  and  gone. 

"Those  were  the  days,"  they  sigh,  and  yet 
They  overlook  or  they  quite  forget 
To-morrow — Now — is  as  sweet  and  fair, 
With  as  much  of  Love  and  of  kindly  care, 
And  friendship  around  them  everywhere! 


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